


The Masseur

by naanie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consent, Enya - Freeform, Good!Peter Lukas, Hurt/Comfort, LOTS OF CONSENT, M/M, Massage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, emotional closeness, mentions of past sexual abuse, scars both emotional and physical, throuple???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-01-08 07:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naanie/pseuds/naanie
Summary: AU in which Martin Blackwood is a massage therapist who gets a referral from one of his regulars, Georgie, who's concerned about her friend Jonathan Sims' constant hunching over. Jon is not keen immediately. Also Sasha bullies Martin into getting a personal life, so he goes to a pub quiz and meets one Tim Stoker.A story about recovering from trauma and letting people in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M to be on the safe side due to some descriptions of past abuse. I'll note which chapters have that content on the chapter summaries.
> 
> Chapter 5 has descriptions of past abuse.
> 
> Chapters 8, 9 and 10 have brief descriptions of past physical abuse by an intimate partner.

Martin was focusing on the knots in his client’s upper back when she spoke up. “Christ, I didn’t even know I had knots there.”

“Is the pressure too much? I can go easier.”

“No, not at all. I like it, actually.” Martin felt her torso shudder involuntarily as he found yet another one. “It’s amazing what your body will put up with. I must be walking around with more knots and tension that I ever realized.”

“Our bodies are generally fairly capable of coping with stress without us realizing it, at least for a short period of time,” he replied. “We get into trouble when we don’t check in with ourselves, and keep pushing our limits.” 

Georgie gave a deep sigh as Martin used more oil and worked with the palms of his hands to slowly massage the knot away. “I have been a bit more preoccupied than usual. Big work project, putting in a lot of overtime.” 

“Oh yeah?” He never pried into his clients’ personal lives, but liked chatting if they wanted to. Georgie had been seeing him regularly for massages for years, and they had a companionable relationship. “I’m glad you booked an appointment, then. Can I put hot towels on your feet?”

“Yes, please.” 

Martin got the towels out of the towel warmer and shook them out a little so they weren’t quite so scorching hot, then wrapped one snuggly around each of Georgie’s feet.

“That feels amazing.” 

He continued working on her upper back, and she fell silent for a minute, thinking.

“Do you take referrals?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Like new clients? I have some bookings available, yes.” 

“Yeah. I have a…well I guess he’s technically a friend.”

“Sounds promising.”

Georgie snorted. “I’ve known him for years. He reminds me of what you said; it seems like he forgets he inhabits a physical body which requires regular care. Always stuck in his own mind.”

“I know the type. I practiced on a lot of students when I went through my training program. Lots of upper back issues and tight chest muscles, from all the hunching over.”

“That’s him. Except he never stopped hunching after university. He’s a professional researcher and spends all his time in various archives, looking at old documents for a project I’ve never been able to learn much about.”

“Alright, please turn over.” Martin lifted up the sheets and blanket to make a shield for Georgie to discreetly flip onto her back, so that he could work on her feet. He tucked the sheets under her shoulders, then walked around to remove the towels and started massaging the balls of her feet with his thumbs.

“_Nnngggg_ that’s the spot,” Georgie said. She let him work for a minute. “Anyway, I think all those years of self-mistreatment are finally catching up with him. Last time I saw him he had what seemed like a permanent crick in his neck, and said his back muscles were spasming. He can tolerate a lot of pain, but seemed to really be suffering.”

“That’s not good,” said Martin, in a concerned voice, as he kept kneading the balls of her feet. “He may need a specialist, but I’d be happy to have him come in and see if massage therapy would help.”

“That would be great. I really think it would.” She paused. “The thing is…he’s not very keen on people touching him, generally. I mean, I don’t think he’s ever had a massage before.”

Martin started massaging each of her calves. “I understand, I work with a lot of first-timers.”

“Have you ever…tried to massage a client and they didn’t like it? Or like, try to convince someone to get one?”

He paused to think as he uncovered her calf and proceeded to knead the muscle. “Hmm. Well, I don’t work on anyone who doesn’t want to be here; consent and trust are essential parts of the job. I fully inform all of my new clients about what the massage will look like, ask about any areas they don’t want to have touched, and answer their questions, to put them at ease. If they don’t want to go through with it at that point, I let them go and say they’re always welcome back. During the treatment, I check in with them and encourage them to speak up since I’m there to work on them and their needs.” 

He thought some more as he kept working; he didn’t usually talk about his clients during sessions, but he’d known Georgie for years and knew she’d be discreet. “I did have a client once, when I was training, actually. He was a first timer who started out fine, but after about 20 minutes into an hour session said he wanted to stop. I asked if I had done anything wrong, or if he wanted me to try something else. He insisted I hadn’t, that he just wasn’t enjoying it and wanted to leave. I offered him a refund, but he refused. He seemed a bit embarrassed, actually. I never did find out what that was about." He paused to think. "Everyone and every body is unique, that’s one thing I’ve learned again and again in this profession.”

Martin covered Georgie’s calves with the sheets, then walked to the top of the massage table and sat down in a chair behind her head. He started massaging her shoulders and neck. “Sometimes I have clients who not only have never had a professional massage, they don’t get touched in their regular lives very much. Working with them and being able to gain their trust is a satisfying part of the job for me. Touch is so important.” As he said this, he thought briefly about the last time he had been touched by anyone other than a massage therapist. He wasn’t doing very well himself on that score.

“Mmm,” said Georgie in agreement. “I think Jon is definitely like that.”

Martin started softly kneading the sides of her neck and jaw. “Well, I’d be happy to talk with him, if he’s interested. I have a new client special. He can even come in for a free consultation if he likes, to meet me in person, go over the process, and see if he finds me acceptable. I’ll leave you one of my business cards to pass on to him.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that. I really hope he does; he’s so bad at taking care of himself, and isn’t good about asking for help from other people. I usually have to drag it out of him.” 

Martin smiled to himself. “I know the type.” All too well. He stood up and said, “Alright Georgie, that’s our time for today. How do you feel?”

She opened her eyes. “I feel wonderful. Refreshed and relaxed. Thanks, Martin.”

He smiled and said, “You’re welcome. The receptionist will help you check out and schedule your next appointment.” He left the room for her to change, and walked back to the employee break area to wait a few minutes before his next client.

——————————-

“…I can’t believe you. You just…told a strange man who touches people for money about my ‘intimacy problems?’”

Jonathan Sims was staring at Georgie incredulously while holding a pint at the bar near her office; they’d met after work a couple of weeks after Georgie’s massage with Martin.

“Jon. He’s not a stranger, I’ve known him for years. Besides, what kind of massages do you think I’m getting? He’s not a prostitute; doesn’t charge enough, for one.” She took a sip of her gin and tonic.

“Very funny.” Jon was not laughing. “You don’t mind that he’s…a man?"

“Martin? No, he’s...it's not like that. He’s very professional. Also I think you’re overreacting a tad. I did not talk about _all_ of your intimacy problems.” She paused. “After all, I only had an hour with him.”

“Again, hilarious,” said Jon, without cracking a smile. He turned his head to look down at the bar, and winced, then started rubbing his neck.

Georgie sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you despise anyone doing anything for you. But I want to help you; that’s what friends do, you knucklehead. Look at you: you’re in pain. I bet if I touched any part of your back right now you’d start spasming right away. You need help.” She then noticed the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. “Christ, have you even been sleeping? You look awful.”

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “I…well, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. The spasms in my back keep me up at night. I have some sleeping pills, but don’t want to get addicted to them, so I don’t take them.”

“So…what, you’re going to keep running yourself ragged? You can’t just pretend you don’t live in a physical body Jon, no matter how hard you try.”

Jon closed his eyes. “I know. I - you’re right about me....The worst thing I can think of is that I’m a burden on someone, anyone.” He took a long drink from his beer. “And - I - well,” he stammered, “I never had much use for my physical form; never did much for me, or anyone else for that matter. If I could just be a brain with opposable thumbs I would.”

“Jon. That would look…really weird.”

He gave a wry smile and finished his drink. “I suppose.” 

Georgie looked at him thoughtfully. “I know you’ve been through. . .a lot. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t very keen on the idea of a stranger seeing me mostly naked, either -“

Jon nearly did a spit take. “_Mostly_ naked???”

“Well, yeah, I mean as much as I want to be; how else is he going to work out the kinks in my back? But honestly, as I said, he’s a professional; I get to choose in advance what I want him to do. He respects my boundaries. It’s very healthy, actually.”

“I’ve never…I could never,” Jon said quickly, wrapping his arms around himself, then winced as his shoulder muscles protested the movement.

Georgie hesitantly touched his shoulder. “I know you have…issues, but everyone does. You’re not a monster. Everyone has scars.”

“No,” he said insistently, “not like mine. I wouldn’t want anyone to see mine.”

“I’ve seen yours, remember?” Jon blushed a little. “I know we didn’t have the greatest romantic relationship -“

“Now that’s an understatement,” Jon interrupted. 

Georgie snorted, then got quiet. “- But seriously, I…I hope I was at least respectful of your scars.” She paused. “All of them.”

He looked at her. “You were. You’re the only one.” He looked away.

Georgie sighed and looked at him with pity. She took out her wallet and found Martin’s business card and put it in his jacket pocket. “Here’s his card. He’d be happy to talk to you - fully clothed - for free, to see if you want to pursue a full treatment. Please think about it; I want you to feel better. And don’t just throw it away on your way home,” she said sternly.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, not on the way home, at least.” 

Georgie accepted that. “Shall we?” They got up and headed outside to take the Tube to their separate homes. 

————————————-

Martin had just finished his last client of the day and he was completely wiped out; he worked late on Tuesday nights and it was now 8:00, and giving massages to people was taxing on the mind and the body. He stripped the sheets off the table to put them in the washing machine, then left to gather his things before signing out with the receptionist. 

“I’m the last one out, Helen; have a pleasant evening,” he called to the receptionist on his way out the front door. 

“See you tomorrow, Martin,” she said as she logged out of the computer. 

The fall air was a bit bracing as he slid on his jean jacket outside. He thought about his exciting evening plans - changing into pyjamas and eating beans on toast on his sofa - and sighed. His friend Sasha had been on his case lately about getting out more and meeting people - guy people, in particular. “You have a lot to offer someone, you know,” she’d said last night over happy hour, and he didn’t quite believe her, to be honest, but knew she wouldn’t quit pestering him until he actually tried something. 

He’d had poor success with romance in the past. He wasn’t very interested in hookup culture, which ruled out a lot of the options on dating apps. And usually the men he was interested in did not reciprocate his feelings, and he pretended that that was fine while continuing to be their friend, and slowly dying inside while denying anything was wrong. Sasha had had so much experience in noticing this dynamic since they met while at university that she’d gotten good at pointing it out pretty much immediately. 

He was taking the Tube home when he remembered Sasha telling him the other night that the pub near his house was having a literary quiz that night, her suggestion of an activity that would get him out of the house. "No excuses, Martin - you live literally steps away from it. You'll have to send me proof you went or..." Sasha had warned. 

"Or else what?" he said with a laugh. Sasha's bark was worse than her bite. 

"Oh I'll think of something," she said, flustered. "It's for your own good."

Despite his protests, he had a hard time resisting, since he knew he’d do really well with that topic, and he made up his mind to go, at least for half an hour. He’d be a little late but hoped he could join someone else’s team.

-

The Rusty Arms was hopping by the time he walked in, and the quizzing was well underway. Martin ordered a beer from the bartender, then stood near the tables towards the back, looking for empty seats. He was normally rather shy, but pub quizzes brought out his competitive side. And he was doing this for Sasha. She’d expect a full report. 

As he was scanning the room, he caught the eye of a man at a nearby table who was glancing in his direction. Martin motioned to him to indicate he wanted to join him, and the man waved Martin over, giving him what turned out to be a brilliant smile that made his eyes crinkle. Martin smiled back. It felt nice. 

“Hello, mind if I join you?” Martin asked the man. “I’m Martin, by the way, and literature is…kind of my favorite topic?”

“Please! We could use the help; we’re floundering a bit here. I’m Tim.” Tim stuck out his hand, and Martin shook it. He had a very firm handshake, and his hand was warm. Martin waved at the rest of the people at the table, who smiled, and went back to listening to the announcer. 

“Thanks very much, nice to meet you. So what question are we on?” Tim caught him up and Martin quickly found himself slipping into literature expert mode for the remainder of the quiz. Tim made it easy for him to fit in with these people he’d never met before. 

Their team didn’t win, but Tim made Martin promise to come for the whole quiz next time - then they’d have a good chance at the prize. “You staying for a bit?” Tim asked him.

Martin should have had an early night, since he had to work the next day, but the way Tim looked at him made him say “Yeah, I’ll have one more.” Tim’s face broke out into a smile and he said, “Great, come on, I’ll buy you one.” 

“Oh you don’t have to -“ Martin protested, but Tim put his finger on Martin’s mouth, which was a bit of a surprise. 

“I wouldn’t hear of it. You got us second place!”

Martin tried not to blush so much, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched his lips. He smiled and let himself be lead to the bar with Tim’s warm hand.

-

“So, your name is Martin, and you like literature.” 

“And you’re Tim, and you…don’t hate literature?” 

Tim laughed, in a warm way that was contagious; his presence had a way of putting Martin at ease. “It’s not my specialty, I’ll say that. I was dragged by some co-workers. What brings you here tonight? Don’t think I’ve seen you at the Rusty Arms before.” 

“Oh, I live in the area but don’t often come here; I usually just…read at home. My friend, she - this is embarrassing - she wants me to get out more, and basically forced me to go to this, and if I don’t report back I’ll be in big trouble.” Martin didn’t now why he was telling Tim all of this - something about the way Tim looked at him as though he was really listening, and was the only person at the bar, just made him spill his guts. What a weird evening he was having. 

Tim smiled. “And look at all the friends you made! Better get a selfie with me to prove it, otherwise she’ll never believe you,” he said with a wink. Martin blushed a little then got out his phone and leaned back to take a selfie with Tim. He sent it to Sasha and just said, “Proof. P.S. His name is Tim.” He put his phone back in his pocket.

“You’re very kind for that; you’re right, she wouldn’t have believed me. I never do things like this.” He got nervous all of a sudden and sipped his second beer. “So, Tim, what about you? Come here often?” He immediately cringed. “I mean, not like that, sorry -“

“It’s alright, I’ve heard far worse in this bar, believe me,” Tim said with another easy smile. “I work not too far away, and tagged along with my friends, who are honestly more into literature than I am. Really glad I did,” he said, smiling at Martin and sipping his drink. He was coming on strong, but Martin didn’t entirely mind, since it had been a really long time since someone had paid him this much attention. Martin felt his cheeks flush a little but told himself it was the alcohol (it wasn’t). He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and when he took it out, he saw a text from Sasha that was just a series of exclamation points and various shocked emojis. He tried to put it back in his pocket, but Tim grabbed it from him and started texting something. Martin looked alarmed. 

“Don’t worry, I’m just putting my number in your phone.” Was Tim like this with everyone? Well, Martin thought, even if he was, maybe Martin could do with a charming, handsome, strong, flirty man who took the lead, for once in his life. “Right - right,” he stammered. 

“For the next pub quiz,” Tim winked. Of course. "Text me so I have yours." Martin sent him a quick _hiya, it's Martin_

“Ah, right. Text me when the next one is.”

Martin finished his drink and finally felt the length of the day weigh on him - he was utterly beat, despite Tim’s effervescence. “Sorry, Tim, but I’m really tired - had a long day. I’m - really glad I came tonight,” he said with a shy smile. “Next time?”

“Definitely. I’m glad you came, too,” Tim smiled, and Martin melted a little. Those crinkles in his eyes….

“Well, uh, goodnight then; say goodnight to your friends for me.” 

Tim saluted. “Will do.” 

He exited the bar and headed home. By the time he entered his apartment he was so tired he could barely take his shoes off. He went to turn his phone on silent and saw Tim's text.

_Nice meeting you, Martin :) Sweet Dreams_

He responded, _Likewise :)_

He managed to brush his teeth and change out of his clothes before crashing into bed. As he was falling asleep, he found himself thinking of Tim's smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next episode of The Masseur:
> 
> -Learn how freaked out and excited but mad Sasha is at Martin for not immediately texting her back about this "Tim" character!
> 
> -Martin keeps massaging people in a consensual environment!
> 
> -Jon thinks himself into a hole about getting the help that Georgie says he needs!
> 
> STAY TUNED


	2. Chapter 2

Martin’s eyes flung open and he worried he had overslept. It was…too quiet, and far too light outside. He reached for his phone, which - oh yeah, he remembered putting on silent last night. He noticed the time and was briefly relieved - he hadn’t overslept, he was just anxious about oversleeping but waking up at the regular time. As you do. He was then very quickly visually assaulted by several texts and a couple of missed calls from Sasha. Very worrying. Martin called her right away without really looking at what she wrote.

“Sasha? What’s the matter?” he asked in a concerned but tired tone. He hoped he hadn’t woken her up.

Sasha roared, “MARTIN BLACKWOOD. WHO IS TIM?” Ah. So she was definitely awake, then.

“What? Tim?…Oh, right. Tim.”

“YES ‘OH RIGHT TIM.’ TELL ME WHO HE IS.”

“…Sasha, please…no yelling…I’ve only just woken up.”

This information did not calm her down. “OH REALLY. IS TIM THERE????”

“What? I’m really confused. Of course he’s not here!”  
“Oh, kicked him out after the deed was done, eh? No sharing a bed for you two, eh?”

“What on earth…Sasha. You think I…slept with Tim?”

Somehow she got even louder. “YES I BLOODY THINK YOU SLEPT WITH TIM. Get some tea or coffee in you for god’s sake, man.”

Martin rubbed his eyes with his hand and started piecing together the previous night. The pub quiz. Beer. Tim. The smile. He felt himself start smiling automatically. “And here I saw your missed calls and thought something terrible had happened. Multiple missed calls from a millennial is pretty serious, Sasha.”

“Oh, don’t get cheeky with me, Martin. You could have avoided this if you’d given me the dish last night instead of leaving me hanging. That photo was incredible; I haven’t seen you smile with a man like that since university!” She paused. “Did you _pay_ him to take it with you?”

Martin faux-gasped. “Sasha James, how very dare you. First accusing me of sleeping with someone I just met at a bar, then accusing me of paying someone off, as though I couldn’t attract him all on my own. Tsk tsk.”

“Sidestepping the question, very interesting. But seriously, if you don’t tell me what happened now I’m going to invent a device this instant that allows me to slap you through the phone.”

“Okay, okay, fine. There’s not much to tell. I did what you said - demanded, rather: I went to the pub quiz last night at the Rusty Arms after work. I got there late and looked for a team to join up with, and that’s how I met Tim. Afterwards he bought me a drink -“

“Oh he did, did he?”

“As a _thank you_ for getting his team to second place, mind.”

“Sure.” She sounded skeptical.

“Anyway, we talked for a little bit after. The photo was his idea. I said you’d never believe I went out of the house without proof, and he jumped into action.”

“Right you were. Well, then what?”

“Then I…got really tired and went home?”

Sasha paused. Martin cleared his throat. “em>Alone. I really needed the sleep so I turned my phone off.”

“…Have you even checked your texts yet?”

“No, why?”

“Well, it seems when you weren’t looking, Tim decided to text me himself. Unless you were masquerading as him on your own phone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“See for yourself.”

Martin looked at his phone and went to his texts with Sasha. He scrolled back through all of her “Martin?” “MARTIN” “WHO IS TIM” “MARTIN ARE YOU KISSING TIM RIGHT NOW” “MARTIN BLACKWOOD IF YOU ARE KISSING TIM RIGHT NOW IN YOUR OWN APARTMENT AND NOT TELLING ME I WILL…DO SOMETHING VERY DRAMATIC” etc. messages from last night until he got to the photo of him and Tim that he’d sent her. It was a very nice photo. He hadn’t realized last night just how close Tim had been to him. 

Then he noticed another text sent to Sasha, one that had come from his phone but that he hadn’t sent himself. 

_Thanks for convincing Martin to come out of hiding :) He’s quite a catch! Hope I see more of him soon ;) ~Tim_

“Oh my god,” Martin exclaimed.

“Yes, ‘oh my god,’” Sasha replied. 

Martin thought for a second and slowly said, “He…what do you suppose he meant by hoping to see ‘more of’ me? Like, seeing me again, as a person? Or, like, seeing…_more_…of-” he couldn’t even finish the thought out loud.

“It’s ambiguous.” Sasha jumped in, grinning. “I obviously have never met this Tim person but you clearly made quite an impression on him.”

“Sasha, he’s the biggest flirt I’ve ever met in my life. He would have bought a bale of hay a drink and taken it home.”

“That may be slight hyperbole, dear. What did I say about you having a lot to offer someone?”

“Sashaaaaaaa. You weren’t there.”

“Well, no, but he didn’t have to steal your phone just to thank me for getting you to socialize. You are definitely cuter and more enjoyable to be around than a bale of hay.”

Martin smiled. “Well, thanks for that. You’re right…I _guess_.”

“I suppose you can thank me officially later. Ideally in front of the man himself.”

“Oh lord,” Martin muttered under his breath. “Aren’t you getting a tad ahead of yourself, here?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I think you will go on several dates with this Tim person, and when you finally allow him to meet me in the flesh, he will thank me profusely for being the one to get you to come out of your cave. I’ll wait for my official thanks at that moment.”

Martin rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine, fine, whatever. I have to get ready for work. Glad it was nothing _serious_.”

“Never do that to me again.”

He smiled. “I won’t.”

He hung up and sat on the edge of his bed for a minute, lost in thought and considering new future possibilities, then shook himself out of it and went to take a shower.

—————————————

Elsewhere in London, while Martin was lying in bed and talking on the phone with Sasha, Jonathan Sims was also lying in bed, but he was unable to move. _This is it_, he thought, _I’ve finally pushed myself too far._ His back muscles were spasming wildly, and had been all night. He hadn’t been able to sleep. Last night he almost surrendered to the siren song of prescription sleeping pills, but couldn’t quite bring himself to take one, even though he had gone completely without sleep for…a couple of days? At least? 

He tried to take stock of the situation without moving more than his head, and even that he did slowly. Did he have water nearby? Pain medicine? Phone? Yes thank god. Okay, that was a start. He took some medicine and hoped it would work before he’d have an unfortunate bladder accident in his bed. He decided to call Georgie while it kicked in.

“Jon!” She sounded a little surprised. “Are you…okay?”

“Georgie,” he said, clearly pained; “I…no. I’m not okay.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in bed. Can’t move.”

“That bad? Have you taken anything?”

“Just did. Hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“Did you -“ She stopped to think. “You threw away Martin’s business card already, didn’t you?” she said suspiciously.

He grimaced but didn’t say anything.

“…Jon….”

“Uhhhhhhhhh.”

“What did I tell you?” she asked sternly.

“Well I didn’t throw it away on the way home, not technically.”

Georgie sighed. “You’re insufferable. But very predictable. And now you need my help, don’t you?”

Jon winced. He hated doing this. “Georgie…could you…I mean…I…do you have ti…would you mind…”

“Spit it out, Sims, I want to hear you say it.”

He sighed. “Georgie. Would you…_please_…pick up a few things for me? And maybe…maybe help…me…just a little…if it’s not too much trouble….”

She let him keep blabbering on for a little while, relishing the discomfort, before finally relenting. “That was excruciating, but yes, Jon, since you’ve asked, I will certainly help you in your time of need. Was that so hard? Don’t answer that.” 

“Thank you, I…I could really…I mean I can’t…I-”

“Jon, Jon, it’s okay, stop. I’ll get you some food and some epsom salts for a bath, and be over in a bit.”

“I…thank you, Georgie.”

“Don’t mention it. Not yet anyway.” 

The pain medicine had started taking effect and Jon was feeling slightly better when Georgie got to his apartment about an hour later; he’d been able to use the toilet and unlock the front door before collapsing back into bed. She let herself in and he heard her plop a couple of bags down on the kitchen table, and put water on for tea. Sweet relief. He really didn’t deserve a friend like her. 

She softly knocked on his bedroom door. “Jon? Are you awake?”

“Yes, come in.”

She opened the door and brought him a mug of tea. “Drink this.” He didn’t need to be told twice. While he was sipping it, she shook her head. 

“You don’t need to say it, Georgie, I know.”

“You’ve suffered enough,” she said with a smile. “I’ll run you a bath.”

“Thank you, sincerely.”

“BUT. But. You must promise me you will see Martin for a consultation this. week. This week, Jon. I will ask Martin for confirmation. Don’t think I won’t.” 

Jon sighed. “Okay, alright, I promise.” 

“Good.” She got up and he heard her start to run the bath water in his bathroom. In the meantime, he got to lay in bed and start to worry excessively about talking to a strange man on the phone, one who he would pay to touch his body. He resisted a shudder. He hated making phone calls, especially to people he didn’t know. He supposed, though, it was the very least he could do to repay Georgie for coming all the way over here to baby him. 

“Why did you come so quickly, anyway?” he shouted to her.

She poked her head out of the bathroom. “Because I’m your friend, you completely ridiculous person.” She paused. “Aaaannnnnddddd because I know how much you loathe phone calls and will do absolutely anything to avoid them, so when you called this morning, I knew you were probably close to death.”

She wasn’t wrong (she seldom was).

He heard the water shut off, and then Georgie walked over to his bed. “Alright, up now,” she said, as she helped him to his feet and walked him to the bathroom. “Don’t come out for 20 minutes at the minimum, okay?”

“Okay,” he responded. She closed the door behind her and he removed his bathrobe and pyjamas, then slowly lowered himself into the hot water.

—————————————

Martin was in the break room eating his lunch between clients. His last session had been particularly long - two hours - working on someone who did a lot of physical labor for work. There had been epic knots in his back and thigh muscles. 

He checked his phone for messages he’d received that morning. As he suspected (quietly hoped), there was one from Tim. 

_Morning. Sleep well? :) _

He replied: _I did, much needed. You?_  
_P.S. Sasha says hello, and you’re welcome. _

He went back to eating his sandwich when he heard a ping. Tim was quick with his fingers. 

_ I was a bit forward last night, wasn’t I? ;)_  
Couldn’t help myself.  
I slept very well, very well indeed. Had excellent dreams. 

Martin raised an eyebrow at that last remark. His dreams had been pretty good, too, but he didn’t want to admit that to Tim. He barely knew the man. Tim wrote again.

_ You busy later? Want to get dinner?_

There it was. Right to the point. Asking people out was never Martin’s forté, so he always appreciated it when other men made the first move. Which they often did not do, and which is why Martin hadn’t dated anyone in…a very long time. 

A date. This would be a date, he supposed. A date with Tim. Isn’t it strange that asking someone on a date is just…a _thing_ you can _do_? And they can say no? (Or yes, you silly man, Martin thought to himself.) He was not used to being asked out, so he always just assumed that the few people who had tried over the years were playing a practical joke, or had lost a bet or something. Even when he was asked out, he was so paranoid about whether the person actually wanted him that he often said no. Falling in love with straight men was his own screwed up way of guaranteeing that would never happen. Christ, Sasha was right: he really was a nutcase. 

That’s why he liked being a massage therapist so much. His clients actually really wanted to see him; they paid money for it and made appointments. The transactional nature made everything so straightforward. Boundaries are established, everyone has their own role to play, there’s a pre-determined amount of time and activity, and then it’s over. No guesswork involved, no mess. Trying to do any of those things outside of the framework he was so used to working in scared the hell out of him.

He realized Tim was still waiting for an answer. He didn’t know what else to say except for: 

_With me? Are you sure?_

Seconds later, a response.

_Well, unless I massively screwed up and got the wrong number, you ARE Martin from the pub quiz last night, are you not?_

He typed, _I am._

Tim responded,

_Then yes, I want to have dinner with you.  
As a date. :) Are you interested? _

_No pressure :)_

Open communication! What a concept. One might think Martin would be better at it considering his job, and he was, but only in work scenarios. See, he got training for that in his massage therapy program. There was no such formal training for communication in one’s personal life, or at least, he’d never heard of it.

He realized he was keeping Tim waiting. He could probably continue to think himself into a hole about this whole (heh) thing, as he was so used to doing, but he made a commitment just then to stop thinking and do something. He finally replied.

_I am :)_

The response was instant.

_Great!  
What time are you off work? I can come by and whisk you away._

Did he want Tim knowing where he worked? He didn’t even know his last name. Better meet up somewhere. 

_You don’t need to do that :) How about we meet at an Indian place near where I work, Maharani, in Camden? 6:30? _

Tim wrote back.

_Perfect. See you then! Don’t be late :) _

_Looking forward to it, Tim_, he replied. 

Phew. Martin rubbed his temples. Was that so hard? …Actually yes, it was. His break was almost over, and he was grateful for the opportunity to take his mind off of this with his work. Otherwise he’d no doubt work himself into a froth and cancel the whole thing.

Before he put his phone back in his locker, he heard another ping. Sasha. 

_Moving quickly!_

Tim must have gotten Sasha’s number from his phone last night, too; the cheek of that man! What ELSE had he done with Martin’s phone? He wrote back.

_My god, you two together will be absolutely insufferable_

Sasha quickly replied.

_:) :) :) knock ‘em dead, champ._

He sent her an emoji rolling its eyes, then put his phone away and went to his room to prepare for his next client. 

———————————-

Jon finished the soup Georgie had heated up for him after drawing his bath, and felt much better. He promised her he’d take a sleeping pill that night, “just as an experiment.” She’d left a little while ago to go to work, but said she’d keep in touch during the day to check on him. He really didn’t deserve her; he’d have to make it up to her later. 

He went to his couch and decided to start reading a new book, since he wouldn’t be able to do any research outside the apartment today. He picked up a recent acquisition, a new book on the history of vampires, and settled in. Soon, however, he felt himself getting drowsy. Maybe Georgie had snuck some medicine into his soup, he thought before drifting off.

——  
Several hours later, his eyes fluttered open. It was an odd sensation, one he’d missed out on the last few days - sleep, glorious sleep. He got up to put the kettle on when he noticed a note on his kitchen table. 

_I put the extra soup in the fridge, also got you some lasagna - it’s in the freezer. You can thank me later. P.S. CALL MARTIN FOR A CONSULTATION._  
-Georgie

Right. That. He sighed, then started dialing the number she’d written down (seeing as he’d gotten rid of Martin’s business card last night). 

“Thank you for calling Camden Massage Therapy, this is Helen, how may I help you?” answered a soothing voice. Ah, so not Martin, then.

Okay, keep cool, Jon, keep cool. “Right - hi - uh - m - my name is Jon, I was ca…calling to try to have a consultation with - with Martin? If that’s possible?” He winced. Cool not kept. 

Helen didn’t skip a beat. “Martin, yes, one of our more popular therapists. Were you referred by an existing client?” 

“Ah, yes - Georgie, Georgina Barker.”

“Thanks. Let’s see, let me look at Martin’s schedule.” She paused. “He has time available this Friday morning. Does 10:00 work for you? Consultations last between 15 and 30 minutes and are no cost, and no massage is involved.”

“Of course, of course. Uh, yes, 10:00 on Friday works for me.”

“Your full name, please?”

“Jonathan, Jonathan Sims.”

“Alright, Jonathan, we will see you on Friday at 10:00 with Martin.”

“Thanks very much.”

After hanging up, he let out the air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Two phone calls in one day! A record for him. Now he only had…two days to wait and start worrying needlessly about how this consultation with Martin would go. He groaned and thought to himself, Well, I made the appointment, didn’t I? Georgie never said I had to actually go to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next episode of The Masseur
> 
> -Everyone freak out, Martin and Tim go on a date!!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MARTIN AND TIM GO ON A DATE EVERYONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for reading and the kudos and the comments, I had no idea that you all would like it. I've never written a series before and I'm just grateful that it is working out. :-* I LOVE YOU ALL.
> 
> P.S. I formatted the texting so that texts Martin receives are aligned to the left, and texts he sends are aligned to the right.

Martin cleaned up after his last client. It was 6:00, and he had half an hour until he was supposed to meet Tim for their…date. Martin…was going on…a date. He, Martin - someone had asked him…on…a date. He’d been saying it to himself all afternoon, thinking that repetition might make him believe it more, and so far the tactic wasn’t working. Sasha had asked him over text, _When was the last time you even went on a date, anyway?_ and he’d had to have a long think. Longer than he ought to have. Long enough for Sasha to write back and say, 

_Martin? Did you get that?_

_Yes, I got it. Sigh._  
_I want to say…2013?_

_Christ_

The way that particular date ended had put him off dating for a very long time. He didn’t like to think about it; Sasha didn’t know the details, just that it had been bad. Really bad. It had only been in the past…six months or so that he’d even considered thinking about possibly trying to make an attempt at going on…a…_date_ with someone again, and Sasha had been gently or not-so-gently trying to help by dragging him back into the dating world. “A ship in harbor is safe,” she’d told him earlier, “but that’s not what they’re built for.”

“I’m the ship in this scenario?”

“Duh.”

“What kind of ship am I? Carrying freight? A cruise ship? Was I built in the modern day or the 1800s? Perhaps I’m a whaling ship? What if I encounter Moby-Dick?”

“MARTIN. You’re deflecting again.”

Guilty as charged. He’d always been able to redirect people’s attention through jokes, but Sasha was good at seeing through it and keeping him accountable. 

He got his phone from his locker, and sure enough, Sasha had texted him some reassurances.

_Don’t back out now :)_  
_Remember, if he didn’t want to go on a date with you…he wouldn’t have asked._

_But that’s so rational, Sasha_

He had niggling thoughts that he’d show up to the restaurant and Tim wouldn’t be there. He imagined waiting for thirty minutes, an hour at a table, telling the waitstaff less and less convincingly that he was meeting someone there, and they would keep giving him papadums that he’d nervously eat while constantly checking his phone. He saw himself leaving the restaurant alone, humiliated. He’d never eat at that restaurant again.

Or worse - he worried he’d show up and Tim would be there with someone else. On purpose. Just to rub it in Martin’s face. 

_What kind of evil person would do that???_, Sasha had asked him earlier. He didn’t know. That’s just how his brain worked. 

His anxiety was starting to really ramp up - he was having a hard time breathing normally, his stomach was unhappy (what an excellent time to eat some curry!!!!!), and he was sweating. He was sure he looked…extremely attractive.

He changed into clothes he’d brought from home, nicer ones than he’d normally wear, chosen in brief consultation with Sasha, of course (he did not know what he’d do without her): medium brown trousers, a forest green button-up shirt with small white polka dots, a gray cardigan, and his nice brown oxfords, recently shined. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, sucked in his stomach a little, and frowned. 

_you look great_

_Sasha you can’t even see me  
Can you?????_

_:P_  
_Better leave soon so you’re not late._

He could cry. He’d been so nervous, he worried he was giving himself an ulcer, and Sasha was just doing the most. He hoped he could return the favor someday. 

He put on his wool coat he saved for special occasions and grabbed his bag, saying goodbye to Helen on the way out, and shivered a little as he stepped outside into the windy, late fall chill.

The restaurant was a short walk away. He was nervous about being late, but he also didn’t want to be early and look desperate. Hopefully it would take him…exactly fifteen minutes to walk there, so that he didn’t have to, say, stand awkwardly in front of a nearby establishment, looking suspicious, for several minutes until it was go time (and hopefully Tim wouldn’t also be doing the same thing, in the same nearby establishment) (although that would make for a very funny rom-com-type first date situation).

It was 6:27 when he arrived at the restaurant; he couldn’t quite see in all the way from the street, so he decided to just stop thinking and walk in. To his date. With Tim. A date. He was on a date.

“Uh, Martin Blackwood, I’m on a date - sorry - I mean, I’m meeting someone here - Tim?” he spilled out to the host, as he realized he didn’t even know Tim’s last name.

The host gestured towards the back, “Right this way, sir.” So he was here already. Damn. Deep breaths, Martin. He felt his phone buzz.

_you’ll be great <3_  
_and I expect a FULL REPORT THIS TIME MISTER_

He smiled, and put his phone in his pocket as he followed the host to…oh there he was. (By himself, Martin noted.) He looked quite nice in a white button-down shirt, grey jacket and grey trousers.

“Martin!” Tim exclaimed with a smile, getting up from his seat. “It’s good to see you! I was hoping you wouldn’t stand me up.” He winked and touched Martin on the shoulder, and Martin smiled and looked down in shyness and so help him god if he started blushing now he would be red as a tomato by the end of the evening.

“Uh, good to see you, too, Tim,” he mumbled to the floor. They both sat down. 

“I’ve already put in an order of momos to share, they’re my favorite,” Tim said with a smile as they each scanned the menu. “I figured if you didn’t come I could cheer myself up by eating them all myself.”

Martin snorted, a rarity for him, but he’d been caught off guard. “I love momos.” They read in silence for a minute. “Thanks for meeting me here, I hope you weren’t coming from too far away?”

“No, no, I work at a hospital in Hampstead.”

“Oh, that’s close, then. What do you do?”

“I’m a nurse, mainly work on the elderly wards.”

Martin softened. He’d been quite close to his grandparents and had fond memories of the staff who’d taken care of them in their later years. “Really? That’s such an important job. I bet all the ladies love you.” Imagining Tim as a nurse working with old ladies was really quite charming.

Tim smiled, “I do have the fend them off. Several of them think I’m their boyfriend.”

Martin laughed and started relaxing a little. Their server arrived at their table with the momos and listed the specials. They ordered a couple of entrees and some wine, and started eating the dumplings.

“So what do you do, then, Martin…?”

“Er, Blackwood, Martin Blackwood. And you are…”

“Tim Stoker. Should have got that out of the way first.”

Martin looked down. “I, um, I’m a massage therapist, I work at a spa nearby,” he said nervously. Sometimes people had _interesting_ reactions when he told them his profession. 

“Oh really? I wasn’t expecting that! Thought you’d be a professor something. I’m surprised you’re single, you must be in high demand,” Tim said with a wink, making Martin blush for the second time.

He laughed anxiously and got a bit flustered. “Oh, no, no, no, I - I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I have a lot of loyal clients, but….” He sipped some of his wine. Maybe that would help. “I went to training school for it, fully certified and all that. It’s a bit of a second career for me.”

“Oh yeah? How long have you been doing it?”

“About five years? I studied literature at university but the job market for that sort of thing wasn’t all that great when I was finished, so really I ended up taking whatever work I could get. Eventually I just decided to try something new and learn a trade of sorts. I quite enjoy it.”

“It must be interesting to interact in that way with all sorts of people you don’t know, and get to know their intimate quirks.”

“Yeah, it is. The more I do it, the more I realize how similar we all are; we all crave touch. And we all just want to feel better, at the end of the day.”

“That’s the truth. Cheers.” They clink glasses. 

“How about you - how long have you been a nurse?”

“Oh, my whole adult life. My mum was a nurse and told me there would always be jobs available in that field; I grew up in a more…economically depressed area so that was important to me. I like it, though; I’m pretty outgoing, as you may have noticed, and I like making people feel better…kind of like you. Although I only see people when they’re sick.” 

Martin nodded. “It’s gratifying to make people feel better, I find. I get a lot of job satisfaction.” 

Their entrees arrived, and Martin started tucking into his butter chicken tikka.

“So, you’re single, then?” Tim asked bluntly. Martin almost choked and started coughing.

“Sorry, went down the wrong pipe. Erm, yes, I’m single.”

“Just checking,” he said mischievously. “Can’t believe a massage therapist with your looks is single, so I had to make sure.” 

Martin’s entire face broke out into a bright red at that (strike three). “I, um, I…don’t go out much. I’m really…rather boring, to be honest.”

“I doubt that. And I’m single, too, not that you asked,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows. Tim really needed to stop doing that while he was eating, otherwise Martin would have to rely on him to do the Heimlich maneuver. (Which, to be fair, he was probably quite skilled at, being a nurse. Maybe that was part of Tim’s plan. Hmm.)

“I’m, um, not used to…getting asked out, actually,” Martin said shyly, moving his food around on his plate.

“That’s a shame. More for me, then,” Tim replied. He was incorrigible, but Martin couldn’t say he didn’t like it. No one had ever talked about him like this before. Right on cue, his paranoia was starting to poke at his more rational brain. _And why would anyone talk about you like that and mean it? Clearly he’s lying so he can hurt you sooner._ He tried to quiet that voice, but he knew it would nag him the rest of the night.

He wanted to change gears, and get the attention off of himself. He’d prepared several generic questions with Sasha’s help beforehand, since he’d been so out of practice at dating (he didn’t write them on index cards, this time - Sasha said that would be a definite faux pas). He put on a bit of his work persona, which came in handy when trying to make conversation with chatty or nervous clients. Hopefully Tim wouldn’t notice. 

As they ate their food and finished their wine, they talked about their favorite films and books, favorite cartoons growing up, where they’d travel if they could take a year off, and other fluffy topics that didn’t cause any fear to bloom in Martin’s stomach. He always felt better when he had control over the situation (another reason why he liked his job so much). 

In the short period he’d known him, Tim had a way of catching him off-guard, with his direct questions, easy smile, and flirty eyebrows. He wondered how Tim was single, now that he thought about it…he could have anyone he wanted, probably. Why would he pick him? _He’s just stringing you along. He’ll realize soon enough who you really are._ His inner paranoia continued to haunt him, and he found himself going on a downward thought spiral.

“Martin? I lost you there,” Tim said, interrupting his train of thought. 

Martin’s eyes focused on Tim - he’d been staring into space for a bit, and Tim gave him a reassuring smile, which Martin couldn’t help but return. Something about the man’s face made Martin trust him implicitly, despite his nagging delusions. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just spaced out for a minute,” he said hurriedly. 

“It’s alright; what were you thinking about?”

Normally at this part of the date, Martin would make something up, finish the social interaction, go home alone, and never see the guy again. He would be safe, but alone. But now he looked at Tim’s open, kind face, a man who hadn’t given him any reason to doubt him (granted, he’d known him for all of…twenty four hours). He tried to think about what Sasha would want him to do. _Go for it_, he heard her say. He swallowed and his heart beat started to increase exponentially.

“Well,” he started off slowly, “I…can’t really believe you’re single, either, to be honest. I mean, you’re an attractive, kind, flirty nurse. Are you sure you’re not…hiding someone or something? Or having me on? It’s alright, I understand.”

Tim looked confused and a little hurt. “Why would I…? Martin, no, I’m very single, and I’m not playing a joke. Who would do something like that?”

Martin looked down at his lap and said quietly, “It’s…happened before. To me.”

Tim reached over and touched his arm. Martin looked up into his eyes, which were full of concern as he said, “I don’t know your history, but no one should do that to another person. Especially someone as lovely as you.” 

_Please don’t cry please don’t cry please don’t cry_, Martin repeated to himself, but a few tears broke free and trailed down his face anyway. He hurriedly wiped them off with his napkin, embarrassed. Tim squeezed his arm. “I mean it.” 

Martin looked at him again, though he was a bit blurry through the tears, and somehow he believed him. “This is probably the worst first date you’ve ever been on,” he said, trying to laugh it off as he wiped his face.

“Not by a long shot,” Tim said. “Once I went on a date with someone who stole my wallet after I’d paid for dinner. Another time, this guy made me dinner, and I got food poisoning.”

“Oh no, that’s horrible!” Martin said, though he couldn’t help giggling a little. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing.” 

But Tim joined him. “Nah, it is pretty funny.” He paused. “So you really think I’m attractive, eh?”

Martin nearly choked again on his drink. Tim HAD to stop doing that! He blushed. Again. Tim just laughed and took that as his answer. 

Having finished their meal, they split the check and put their coats on, and went outside. 

Martin was about to get nervous again, worried he’d have to navigate how to say no to Tim inviting him over, when Tim started talking. “Well, I have an early morning tomorrow, so I’ll need to pack it in, I’m afraid.” 

Martin tried not to look relieved. “Me too. Are you taking the Tube home?”

“Yeah, let’s head there.” 

They rode the Tube together until Martin had to get off to change lines. Before his stop, he said, “I had a really nice time, Tim. Thank you for…inviting me to dinner,” and gave him a shy smile.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Tim said reassuringly, and Martin believed he meant it. “I’d love to see you again soon.”

“I’d like that,” Martin replied, a bit breathless. All this direct communication was so foreign to him, but exciting. 

They arrived at his stop and he stood to leave the train. Tim stood up, too. “Have a good night, Martin,” he said with a wink, then kissed his cheek so quickly Martin wouldn’t have been able to dodge it even if he’d wanted to. Not that he wanted to. He blushed for at least the fifth time, which Tim visibly enjoyed (he got the distinct impression that Tim liked making him blush) and mumbled, “Erm, you, too,” before getting off. He smiled and waved at Tim as the train left the station, then made his way to his other train to go home. 

—————————

He knew he couldn’t risk a repeat of last night, so as soon as Martin walked into his apartment he texted Sasha. 

_Date was a success. Home now (ALONE)._

_awww, maybe next time. j/k_  
_Congratulations on going on a date! I thought it would never happen  
It’s a big step for you_

_Yeah, thanks. Tim is…  
He’s really nice. I think he actually likes me_

_OF COURSE HE LIKES YOU, YOU DOLT_  
_But I’m glad he treated you well. You deserve it._  
_How many times did he make you blush_

Martin laughed. 

_Five. At least._

_Wow, a record!_

_Am I allowed to sleep now? I’ve had a big day_

_Yes, you’re excused. For now. Sleep tight._

_Thanks for all the…everything. You’re a great friend_

_:-* love you_

_love you_

He couldn’t wait to change into his pyjamas and watch old episodes of Are You Being Served?  
While he was watching a very important scene involving Mr. Humphries, he heard his phone buzz. “What is it now, Sasha,” he asked out loud, then looked and saw that it was Tim.

_I had a great time with you tonight ;)  
Want to get together this weekend? Saturday night?_

_I’d like that :)  
Sweet dreams_

_Sweet dreams :-*_

Dammit. One shouldn’t be able to blush only from a kissing emoticon. Good grief. 

Although he was already getting nervous about the prospect of date number two, he was also starting to get really excited for the weekend.

He got ready for bed and slid under the covers, and found himself thinking about Tim’s brief kiss. He hadn’t been kissed on the cheek since he was…fifteen? Maybe? It was sweet. Tim was sweet. He even let himself think about what Tim’s lips would feel like on his own…he’d have to try to work that in this weekend. He didn’t think Tim would mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF THE MASSEUR:
> 
> -Martin freaks out about date number two 
> 
> -Jon (remember him?) freaks out about seeing this strange man named Martin for a massage consultation


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon decides whether or not to go to his consultation and meet this Martin person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who had an extra day off and wrote this for y'all?  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Okay it was me. Last time it was all Martin, now it's Jon's turn. Hope you enjoy.

It was Friday morning, 9:30 a.m., and Jon was sitting in the window of a cafe about a block from the massage therapy place where he was due for a consultation with this Martin person in half an hour. He’d been there since 8:00, and had been drinking entirely too much coffee, out of nerves, out of boredom, and because someone kept giving him refills. His knee was rapidly bouncing up and down underneath his table. He was facing the street and just watching people walk past; he probably looked a bit creepy, he acknowledged. He still hadn’t been sleeping well, despite his promises to Georgie that he’d try to take his sleeping pills, so he had dark circles under his eyes, and he wasn’t reading a book or even looking at his phone while he was waiting, he was just…staring. For over an hour. Thinking about whether or not he’d actually go through with it.

At least everyone in the cafe had left him alone, except for the barista who probably felt sorry for him and kept wordlessly giving him more dark roast. The trouble was, his stomach was a churning mess due to the stress, so he couldn’t keep any food down, meaning all of that coffee was hitting him straight on. And Jon didn’t even like coffee that much, but he needed the extra caffeine to make sure he didn’t fall asleep during his appointment. A fine first impression that would make.

The phone call he’d made days ago to make the appointment had been a rare moment of self-advocacy for him (if he could even call it that; without Georgie’s care, he probably would have had to be carried out of his flat by a stretcher called for by his landlady). Since then he’d been even more anxious and sleepless than usual. He had his typical back pain and muscle spasms, but on top of that was a growing and nearly insurmountable fear of the unknown - he’d never had a massage before; he hated going to a general practitioner and having his blood pressure taken, and even then he got to keep all of his clothes on, at least at the beginning.

He was also anxious about how he looked, and how other people would see him. How this Martin fellow would see him. He kept hearing Georgie’s reassurances that Martin was a professional, but that didn’t really help. He was anxious about what Martin would think of him, even though he didn’t even know him, even though he would only see him for a short period of time, and as a client, not as a friend or acquaintance.

Jon didn’t get to meet many people, and navigating social situations and making friends was difficult for him. He didn’t know why Georgie still liked him, if he was honest, but he was glad she did. She was one of the few friends he really had. And he knew that that was mostly his own fault.

He checked his phone for the time. 9:45. Fifteen minutes to go. Really, ten minutes. In ten minutes he would stand up, bus his coffee cup, and walk to the massage therapy place so that he was on time. He would. He would do it.

Jon really had not thought this through, had he? Even if he was on time, he would be an absolute anxious, jittery, sleep-deprived mess. He really should not have come to this coffee shop.

He heard a ping.

_You on your way?_

Georgie. Bless.

_How do you know…? _

_I have my ways_

_You’re terrible. _   
_if you must know, I’m currently waiting at a coffee shop nearby,  
debating whether or not to go through with it _

_honestly Helen told me - since you mentioned me as a referral _ _I get a discount on my next massage._  
_Didn’t think you’d actually go through with it but I’m touched that you did._

_I believe I was threatened with violence if I didn’t comply, so I made it a top priority. _   
_I’m quite weak, you know._   
_And the soup helped. You really…saved me._

_you’re welcome_   
_I’m sure you’ve been stewing about it for several hours but trust me, he’s seen all kinds of people._   
_You have more in common with the rest of humanity than you think._

Jon didn’t respond. He was thinking. Did he really?

_Just…try it. That’s all I ask. Then I’ll stop. Okay?_

_ That’s fair._

_Did you take a sleeping pill like I told you to?_

………..

_Bastard. Tonight I’ll come over myself and force it down your throat, just watch._

_I’ll leave the door unlocked, then._

_:P_   
_How’s your back, by the way?_

_Horrible._

_Of course it is. I know just the person to fix it._

_SIGH.  
I’M GOING I’M GOING OKAY_

_:D :D _

He put his phone away. 9:53 a.m. The growing pit of anxiety had momentarily lost its strength during his texting with Georgie but now returned stronger than ever. All of the coffee he’d drank on an empty stomach was hitting him like a tidal wave of jitters. He felt like his stomach was going to pack up its bags and leave his body entirely, and he wouldn’t blame it if it did - he was a terrible host.

Jon briefly closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths. Moderately successful. He half-hoped when he opened them he’d be somewhere else, that this was a dream, or that he’d gone to the appointment already and it was over and now he could get on with his day, but - he squinted and he definitely still had to deal with the situation at hand.

He got up and brought his cup to the dirty dishes bin, and said, “Th- thank you for the extra coffee,” to the nearby barista, who looked at him a bit concerned and responded, “You looked like you needed it.” Jon gave him a weak smile in return, then left before he had to speak any further. He only had a small reserve of extroversion available to him per day, and he didn’t want to use it up before seeing Martin.

_Martin,_ he thought to himself as he made the short trek to the nearby building. He wondered what Martin looked like. He’d never even heard his voice before. What kind of man works at a massage therapy office, anyway? It’s not like Camden was a seedy area. He just had no idea what to expect, which his anxiety was having a field day with. He was having a hard time not lumping Martin in with…a sex worker, if he was totally honest with himself, which he was definitely NOT interested in. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It just wasn’t for him.

_You really need to pull yourself together,_ he thought to himself as he approached the door. _It’s only a consultation. No massage involved, as the lady - Helen - said. Clothes stay on._ Right. He put his hand on the doorknob and paused. _This is it._ He swallowed, took a deep breath, and…

found himself in the wrong office as he stared at posters of destinations around the world and racks of travel pamphlets. This must be a travel agency. “Wrong door, sorry!” he shouted at the confused but friendly-looking employee about to ask how she could help him. _Smooth move, Sims._

He went back outside and looked at the surrounding doors of the building. There it was, a few doors down.

He didn’t want to be late. As anxious as he was about doing new things and meeting new people, being late was something he absolutely did not tolerate above all else, so he didn’t have time to stop and consider the door knob this time.

Jon walked in, and the door made a little jingle sound announcing his arrival. Right away he noticed the dim lighting and comfortable furniture. Soothing harp music was playing softly in the background, and he got a faint whiff of eucalyptus. There were a couple of people sitting in chairs, clients, he presumed. He stood by the desk and heard rustling in the back. “Just a minute,” a woman’s voice called out.

As much as this place was set up to relax him, his anxiety wasn’t fooled entirely. He realized he could leave now, and no one would know. Georgie already got her referral, besides. He started thinking about just quietly walking out when the woman returned and sat down at the reception desk.

"Sorry about that. I’m Helen, how can I help you?”

“I’m, uh, I’m - Jon, Jonathan, uh, Sims? I have an appointment? Not like a full appointment but -“

“A consultation,” she cut him off, mercifully. She looked at her calendar. “I see, a consultation with Martin at 10:00. You’re right on time. Please have a seat, I’ll let Martin know you’re here.”

He walked over to one of the chairs, and found they were as comfortable as they looked. He tried to focus on the music and the smell, instead of everything going on in his mind, but it was difficult. He didn’t particularly want to read a magazine or fiddle with his phone, so he just sat there, letting his anxiety slowly creep up with each moment that Martin didn’t come through the door, and feeling all of his fight-or-flight instincts telling him to flee this instant.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Helen asked. “You look rather…parched,” which was a polite way of putting it.

“Um, yes please.” She poured him a glass of water from a pitcher of water that had lemon and cucumber slices floating in it and brought it over to him. It was very refreshing. Something else to focus on while he waited. He should really try making this at ho-

“Jon?”

He was jolted out of his thoughts and nearly spilled his water. He looked up (and tried not to wince as his neck muscles revolted) to see a tall (well, taller than him, at any rate), husky, ginger man standing by the reception desk. He was wearing a polo shirt with the business’s logo on it, tucked into gray trousers, and was giving Jon a warm smile that looked genuine. Jon swallowed and rose to meet him. “You must be -“

“Martin,” he said, as he reached out his hand, which Jon shook. It was a strong handshake. _Good sign that the massage therapist has strong hands,_ he found himself thinking. He hoped Martin didn’t notice how clammy and weak his hand was. “It’s nice to meet you!” Martin said cheerfully. “Please follow me, I’ll take you to our consultation room where we can chat.”

He followed Martin through a door and saw several rooms in a hallway, some occupied and others not, each of which had a massage table and very low lighting. While walking behind him, he noted that Martin was only a little bit taller than him, but his broad shoulders and bulky middle made him appear larger.

“Here we are.” Martin lead him to a room at the end of the hallway that faced the back and had a table and two chairs, some lamps, and the same music piped in as the reception area. “This is our consultation room, it’s the only room here with windows.” Jon gave a weak smile as he sat down and nervously sipped his water.

“So, Jon” Martin began, “today I’m going to tell you a little about what we do, then ask you some questions about what sorts of issues you’re having that you’d like some help with, and at the end you can make an appointment for a full massage if you like. And it doesn’t have to be with me - you’re free to work with any of the therapists here, I won’t be offended.” He smiled. “Massage is a very personal thing, so it’s important to be able to trust who you’re working with. Does that sound alright?”

Jon swallowed some more water. “Uh, yes, yes - sounds good.”

“Alright. Have you ever had a massage before?”

“N- no, never,” Jon said nervously.

“That’s okay, I work with a lot of first-time clients,” Martin said as he gave a reassuring smile. His accent was comforting, and Jon felt himself smiling back. The anxiety of the last few days was beginning to slip away. “The purpose of massage is to make you, the client, feel better - physically, but also mentally. It can be a time of quiet reflection, or we can have a chat throughout - I’m happy either way.

“The first thing you should know is that I only work on what you want me to - all incoming clients fill out a form where they indicate special areas they’d like us to focus on, and areas that we are not to work on. Clients can update that at any time. Before each appointment, I check in with my client and ask about muscles or areas they’d like me to focus on that day. Also, the client only removes as much clothing as they feel comfortable with; they’re covered with a sheet and blanket at all times, except for the specific part being worked on. If I notice a particularly sore area during our appointment, I’ll point it out and give it some extra attention. We all have knots in our muscles we don’t know about.”

“That sounds great,” Jon found himself saying. He wondered if Martin had ever counted the knots on his clients, and what the highest number he’d ever gotten was. Maybe Jon would have the most. He probably had knots on his toes.

Martin continued. “After each appointment, I’ll make notes about what I worked on, so that I can reference it for the next time, and give you some exercises or stretches you can do in between sessions.” His face went a bit serious before continuing. “And I’m sure this won’t come up, but I’m required to say that we do not offer ‘happy endings’ or anything sexual - this is strictly a non-sexual massage business. If a therapist feels they are being pressured into doing anything sexual, we reserve the right to stop the appointment and bar clients from the premises.”

Jon felt himself blushing. “Oh - of co- of course, no, no, I - I’m not here for that at all.”

“I didn’t think so,” Martin rushed to add, “but I have to inform everyone. You might be surprised at how many people - men, mostly - just leave after I explain all that,” he said with a wry smile. Jon raised his eyebrows. “Now that that’s out of the way - most of our clients have massages every month or so, but clients can come more or less often, depending on their needs. I specialize in Swedish and Deep Tissue massage and can do light, medium, or strong pressure, depending on your preference. For new clients, I typically start with light pressure and see how it goes from there. Also, we have a membership program for monthly clients that gives you a reduced price.”

“I think Georgie has that.”

“Yes, Georgie; she referred you to me, right?”

Jon nodded.

“Perfect. If you do decide to make an appointment, an important thing to know is that if you need to cancel it, you can do so at least 24 hours in advance without being charged; unfortunately, if you cancel with less notice than that, we do have to charge you.”

Financial incentive for him to show up to his appointments, then. Blast. He couldn’t just not show up without consequences. “That makes sense.”

Martin smiled at him. “So, with all of that out of the way, what brings you to Camden Massage?”

Jon cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know how much she told you, but Georgie basically forced me to see you. You know how she is.”

Martin failed to withhold a grin and nodded, “I do, indeed.”

“I - she’s not wrong. My back, I’ve been having muscle spasms in my back for months, and they’ve gotten worse lately. And my neck….Earlier this week I could barely turn my head it was so painful.”

“What do you do, as a profession?”

“I’m a researcher, essentially. I spend a lot of time sitting at a desk, hunched over books or papers and the like, for hours at a time. I tend to get lost in what I do. And I don’t have the best posture…. Also - my muscle spasms have been keeping me from sleeping at night, and that isn’t helping any.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Martin said sympathetically. “I noticed when I saw you in the waiting room that you were hunching your shoulders and minimizing neck movement, and it looked like carrying your bag was a bit painful for you; I’d guess your chest muscles are also a bit underdeveloped in response.”

Jon was a bit stunned. “How did you - how long were you standing there???”

“Oh, uh, not long,” he said hurriedly, “but we pick up on things like that; it’s part of our training.”

“That’s amazing.”

“We try to be perceptive,” he replied a bit bashfully; “sometimes clients have difficulty verbalizing their needs, so we have to use our observation skills to make up the difference.”

Of course. If Jon was any indication (Mr. Brain-with-Hands), most people had no bloody clue what was wrong with their bodies, so of course they couldn’t tell someone else. “Well, you definitely are perceptive,” he replied with a meek smile, which Martin returned. That felt nice. “Georgie was sick of hearing me complain, honestly, and thought that some massage therapy might help. She’s done nothing but rave about you.”

Martin slightly blushed; he looked good like that, Jon decided. _Where did that thought come from???_ “Oh, well,” Martin sort of tapered off awkwardly.

“Anyway, she thought you could help, and I - well I’ve been in so much pain I’ll try anything,” Jon finished.

“Of course. I know what it’s like to be in pain,” he said gently, and Jon knew he was talking about muscle pain, but…something in his eyes made Jon think he was talking about other kinds, as well. He found himself staring into Martin’s eyes, which were a bright shade of blue, as he kept talking.

“Jon?” Martin looked at him concerned. “Are you alright?”

Jon instantly flushed with embarrassment as he realized he’d been staring. “Sorry, sorry - yes, I’m alright.” He quickly drank the rest of his water.

Martin’s face flooded with relief. “Good; thought I’d lost you there. I was just saying, it’s my job to help you and relieve your pain, as much as I can, and I’d like to work with you to try to do that.”

Jon tried not to be distracted by Martin’s kind, genuine face as he struggled for a response. “Um, uh - ye- yes, yes of course, I’d like that, very much.”

Martin gave him another one of those genuine smiles. He was so good at those. “Excellent. Do you have any questions for me?”

Jon’s mind momentarily went blank, then he remembered and started nervously babbling. “Uh, right. Um. Do you ever - I mean - I -” Martin patiently waited for him to spit it out. He took a deep breath. Maybe this would be better if he didn’t look at Martin in the eyes. Jon found himself looking at his hands in his lap. Might as well just get this over with. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m a bit embarrassed, to be honest, but I - um - have some…Scars. On myself. I - I don’t like people seeing them, I’d rather not talk about them, but they - I don’t want you to think - they’re not infected or diseased or anything. I just - wanted you to know, so you weren’t - surprised.”

He stopped, and when he didn’t hear Martin start talking right away, he looked up to find Martin looking at him in the most tender, concerned way that Jon almost started crying then and there. _What is happening to me???_ he wondered. He’d have to ask Georgie if Martin had this effect on everyone.

“Jon, of course - I would be happy to avoid working on areas that you’re not comfortable with me seeing, for whatever reason, just say the word. And, I can say, as someone who works on people’s bodies for a living, that everyone has scars, I have scars, too; they’re very personal things. They usually tell a story, one that we may not want everyone to know. I want you to know that whatever we talk about or work on during our sessions never leaves the room. It’s my job to earn your trust and maintain confidentiality. Okay?”

Jon nodded as he felt tears spontaneously well up in his eyes. Martin wordlessly handed him a tissue. _No wonder Georgie comes to this guy all the time,_ he thought to himself. Perceptive men were a rarity. Martin was evident one in a million. “Yes,” he responded somewhat hoarsely, “yes, okay. Thanks.” He smiled. Martin smiled back.

“Good. Any other concerns you might have?”

“No, I think that was the only one.”

“If you think of anything else, please contact me through Helen, I’d be happy to talk to you again. Otherwise, I think we can head back to reception and you can make an appointment, if you’d like.”

They rose from the table and Jon followed Martin back to the front. He felt…strange, and realized that his anxiety was almost totally gone. Martin was an anxiety-crushing wizard.

They reached the front and Martin stuck out his hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Jon, hope to see you again,” he said sincerely, as Jon shook his hand.

“Likewise. Thank you, Martin.”

“You’re welcome.”

Helen turned to Martin. “Your 10:30’s here.”

“Excellent, I’ll be right with them,” he said before leaving the reception area.

Jon exhaled. He did it.

“Would you like to make an appointment, Jon?” Helen asked.

“Oh, um, yes, yes I would. With Martin. When, er, when is his next available?”

“Let me see…looks like he has a last minute cancellation tomorrow at 1:00, that’s a Saturday - would you like to take that one?”

“Uh yes, that’ll be perfect.” Helen entered his information into their system and handed him an appointment card.

“See you tomorrow.”

He gave Helen an awkward wave on his way out.

He checked his phone. It was only 10:30.

_You done yet?  
Or did you skip out on me?_

Georgie.

_Just left.  
Martin is…he’s…  
wow. _

_Amazing, right? Sometimes I wish he was my boyfriend._   
_He’s the most attentive partner I’ve ever had, hahaha!_   
_No offense, Jon._

He smiled.

_None taken.  
He…made me cry? somehow? in the best way?_

_Aww. I believe it. He’s…an amazing listener. So sensitive. And his hands…_   
_I’m just saying, he is very good at what he does._   
_I’m very glad you talked to him._   
_You seeing him again?_

_For an appointment, yes_

_;)_   
_Excellent._   
_Now I don’t have to beat you up._

_Oh, I’m sure you’ll find another reason to_

_True true_

Jon put his phone in his pocket and started heading towards the special collections library where he’d been doing research lately; he could still study for most of the day. As he took the Tube, he felt somewhat…stunned at how, even though he hadn’t touched him, Martin had made him feel a little better, just with that short conversation. He hadn’t been sure he’d go to the consultation, but was really glad he hadn’t listened to his inner voice that told him to flee. He was starting to look forward to tomorrow.

—————————————

It was 1:30 on Friday and Martin finally had a break to eat lunch. He’d had a busy morning - a few massage appointments already, and that consultation with Georgie’s friend, Jon. He got his lunch and phone out in the staff lounge area and started thinking while his food heated up.

He’d remembered what Georgie’d said about Jon, but always liked to hear from people directly. When he first saw Jon in the waiting room, swallowed up by one of their giant waiting room chairs and looking like he was sweating bullets, he could tell how much pain and anguish the man was in; it was obvious by the way he was hunched over, and mindlessly rubbing his neck. Poor guy. Martin knew the type, though, who were inclined to ignore the fact that they had a body with needs until it was almost too late. They tended to be men, especially men who studied or were in academia for a living. People who did physical labor, if they did it for any significant period of time, generally knew how to take care of themselves, since if they didn’t, they’d be out of a job.

Martin thought back to his conversation with Jon. He’d tried to make it as relaxed and respectful as possible, as was his usual tactic with anxious first-timers, and it seemed to have worked; he’d noticed as Jon had slowly unfurled throughout the meeting, and he thought he saw Jon beginning to let his guard down a little. Martin had taken it as a personal success, and he’d been pleased to hear that Jon had made an appointment afterwards. He’d been told he had a way with people. “That’s why they keep coming back,” Helen had told him. His return rate, of clients returning to see him and not someone else, was very high.

He had been a little taken aback by how…absolutely petrified Jon was about scars he had, since none of them were evident on what little of him was exposed. When he started crying, Martin had wanted to get up and give him a hug, but of course he couldn’t, since he’d only just met him, and he had to respect the professional boundaries between client and therapist. That was one of the harder things about his job - he was able to get quite close to people sometimes, but there were certain lines he couldn’t ethically cross, at least as long as they were his client.

Martin meant what he’d said about having scars himself. He had several on his chest - large cuts that had required stitches, and they’d healed fairly well but wouldn’t ever go away completely. It made him nervous to go swimming, or take his shirt off in front of people, so he usually avoided that. Since he knew what it was like, at least a little, he had made it a mission to make his space a safe one for people, if only for an hour at a time.

He ate his lunch and checked his messages. He brightened when he saw that Tim had texted him earlier. That man was quickly worming his way into Martin’s life in the nicest of ways.

_Morning, Martin, hope you’re having a splendid day!  
Just wondering if you have any preference as to what we do tomorrow night._

_Had a busy morning, only getting this now.  
Nope, surprise me :)_

Tim wrote back instantly.

_Ooh, with pleasure :P_  
_I will do my very best to make you blush._  
_Your cheeks look so good when they go red_  
:-*

Now Martin was blushing in real life. Hard. He could only imagine what Tim would have in store for him.

_I mean, it doesn’t take much_

_I know_   
_It’s great :)_   
_Are you blushing now???_

Dammit.

_um. yes._

_goal achieved :)_   


_What have I done?_, Martin thought to himself.

_Well, try not to kill me, okay? At least not until the date is over. ;) _

_That I can do :)  
Don’t worry, it will be fun._

_If you say so…  
Looking forward to seeing you. 7:00? You can meet me at work - Camden Massage Therapy.  
As long as you behave yourself. Helen will have no qualms about throwing you out if you don’t _

_Roger that. Wouldn’t want to upset poor Helen.  
I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7:00 ;)_

_See you then!_

He put his phone away and cleaned up his dishes and returned to the office for his next client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF THE MASSEUR:
> 
> -Martin goes on date number 2 with Tim - will they kiss?????????????
> 
> -Jon has his very first massage with this Martin person! Will he faint????????????
> 
> WHO CAN SAY
> 
> (I mean I can, I guess. Til next time.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Jon can't sleep - each is plagued by nightmares of his past.
> 
> Martin sees Georgie's friend Jon for his first massage appointment, with a little help/force from Georgie herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter goes into a little of Martin and Jon's backstories with their experiences of abuse and the scars they carry as a result; I have updated the tags and changed the overall rating to mature (due to descriptions of past abuses), just to be cautious, so please review accordingly. 
> 
> This chapter was a little difficult for me to write (trauma is hard! it turns out), and it's quite long already so I couldn't fit in Martin's date, unfortunately, but it will come next time. Thank you for reading <3

That night, in Martin’s bedroom, the dreams came back. Really, they were nightmares, ones that hadn’t made themselves known in some time. He should have anticipated them, should have assumed that they’d come trickling into his psyche like an unwelcome fog when he was finally starting to think the coast was clear.

He woke up when it was still dark and his heart was pounding, his skin clammy despite the chill. The scars on his chest were throbbing, red and violent; he’d been clawing at them in his sleep, leaving scratches, and drawing a little blood. He sat up and tried to catch his breath and take stock of the room, just in case…. No, nothing appeared to be amiss. 

The lasting image that had been imprinted on the back of his eyelids, the one he’d seen right before waking up, was of the man, Him, kneeling over him, knife raised, about to plunge it into his body. He used to have this dream every night (or at least the nights he’d managed to fall asleep at all), then once a week; later, maybe a few times a month, eventually just around the anniversary of the event, and in the last few years, blissfully, not at all. 

Even though it had been awhile since they’d last infiltrated his mind, the memories were as clear as the day they’d happened; he knew he’d never be able to truly forget any part of it, no matter how much he wanted to. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He didn’t remember the aftermath. He didn’t remember how he got to hospital. Recovery was something of a blur. But he remembered everything up until the moment of - 

Martin reached over to his bedside table and sipped some water. He really thought he’d had a handle on his anxiety, but clearly something was bringing up past trauma, causing it to bubble up from the dead like a ship he’d thought had been sunk forever. The ghost ship had evidently returned, and he didn’t know how to make it go away. 

The reason for it, he realized then, was obvious. The man in his dreams - he was the last boyfriend Martin had had, although calling him that was…somewhat misleading. Boyfriends were supposed to be supportive, romantic, loving, funny; well, the good ones, anyway. This man, the last man, had been more of a personal terrorist. 

He’d been quite a bit older than Martin when they’d met; that was part of his strategy, Martin learned later. Martin had been in his mid twenties, and hadn’t had much experience with relationships, only recently having decided to come out to his family and friends. His family hadn’t…taken it well, which is why he’d moved to London from the North of England. Best to get a fresh start in one of the biggest cities in the world. That was another of the man’s strategies - look for the ones who look lost.

Martin got up to make himself a cup of tea, since he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon. He remembered he’d also been drinking tea, Earl Grey, when the man had first introduced himself; Martin had been at a cafe near his old flat, working on what he hoped would be the next great gay British novel. 

“Pardon me, but would you like a pastry? The barista gave me a free one, and I certainly can’t eat two, or at least, I shouldn’t,” a stranger had said to him. Martin looked up from his laptop and saw a dashing man at least 30 years his senior holding out a plate with a chocolate croissant; it was hard to tell exactly how old he was. The man clearly kept himself in very (**_very_**) good shape. It was summer, and he was wearing a light green dress shirt tucked into grey trousers, no tie; his sleeves were rolled up, and Martin glanced at his strong-looking forearms covered in silvery brown hair with interest. He swallowed.

“S-sure,” he said, as he looked up at the man’s face; the man had crinkles around his eyes, which were exaggerated by his earnest smile, and a full head of salt and pepper hair, stylishly slicked to the side. His eyes were a disarming grey color. “Thanks, thanks very much.” 

“You’re welcome.” He paused, as if deciding whether to leave. Later Martin would wish to God he’d been able to make the man leave at that point. 

The man reached out his hand. “I’m Elias, by the way. I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

“M-Martin,” he stuttered, mesmerized by the man’s - Elias’s - eyes as he awkwardly shook his hand. “I, uh, recently moved to the neighborhood.” 

“Mind if I sit down?” asked Elias, without waiting for an answer before taking the seat across from him. This was another moment Martin looked back on and wished he’d been able to change the past, to say, “Ah, no, I have to…get going, sorry,” and never go to that cafe again. 

Martin sipped his peppermint tea in his kitchen, blessedly alone, except for his thoughts. He hadn’t been able to drink Earl Grey for years after that chance encounter without thinking of Him. Needless to say, he also would never accept a free chocolate croissant from anyone again. 

Sasha knew that the man had been Martin’s last real “relationship,” and was the reason why he hadn’t dated anyone since. She’d been the first person he saw in hospital when he woke up, aside from the doctors and nurses. He’d been so ashamed that she’d seen him like that - she hadn’t known the extent of the abuse, just…that last incident. He hadn’t ever talked to her about it, out of immense shame and fear, but also out of the suspicion that she might get arrested after trying to pursue her own sense of justice. She had given up trying to make him talk, but did her best to be supportive otherwise. And he’d done his best to move on and forget about it. At least he thought he had. But evidently, his brain had other ideas.

He thought he’d spent enough time doing penance, being alone, not trusting anyone new. He went on one date with Tim and was about to go on a second for the first time since…and his own mind was already working against him. 

It was true he’d met Tim only a few days ago; he knew where Tim worked and that he went to pub quizzes, but what else did Martin really know about him? He seemed nice. Eli- the man had also seemed nice. Charming, in fact. Martin would never meet any of his friends, though, which should have struck him as odd. The red flags were always there, Martin just hadn’t known to look for them. Part of him worried the same thing would happen again. 

He tried to take some deep breaths. He was getting ahead of himself. _You’re only going on one date with him_, Martin reminded himself. _He’s not Him. He’s a cute nurse who likes you, and a second date is just a second date. Besides, barely anything has happened between you two; you have yet to even make it to first base.  
_

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he said out loud. His inner self was starting to sound a bit judgmental. (And a bit like Sasha. Bless her.)

The truth was, he had caught himself daydreaming about kissing Tim and feeling vaguely guilty. He knew it would happen so easily, and any awkwardness would be his own fault. One time he imagined them at a small table for two in a restaurant, in the corner, maybe; they’d each reach for the bread basket at the same time and bump their hands together. “Sorry,” Martin would mumble, as Tim handed him a roll. He’d nervously eat it while feeling Tim’s gaze on him. He’d look up and see Tim looking at him intently. “Is there - is there something wrong?” he’d ask, nervously. 

“You’ve just got some crumbs -” Martin would start to brush them off, but Tim would reach for his arm to gently put it down. “No, no - let me,” he’d say in a husky, low voice, before slowly leaning over to gently lick the crumbs off of Martin’s lips. Martin would let out a small gasp in surprise, making Tim pause, centimeters from his face, to look at him. 

“Alright?” Tim would whisper while hovering at his lips, his brown eyes burning.

Even during his daydream, Martin would think, T_his is such a cliche, but I don’t care_, then swallow and whisper back, “Alright.” And Tim would smile and gently kiss him properly, in front of everyone, with those warm, lascivious lips of his. The kiss would instantly go to Martin’s lap; blood previously shunted to his blushing face would be retreating downwards, and he would be grateful for his cloth napkin. 

Daydreaming about kisses, like he and Tim were Lady and the Tramp? He was a hopeless romantic. Or “insufferable,” as Sasha put it.

When he came to from these thoughts, he’d always find himself with a growing erection and a feeling of dread beginning to stream into his stomach. Dread was always part and parcel with attraction for him now, after - after.

His mind had the following equation set firmly in place, out of necessity - kissing leads to sex, and sex is violence, so therefore, kissing is not allowed. It was a defense mechanism he’d been working under for years, and it had served him well up to that point. He was just starting to see that it may have overstayed its welcome (Sasha, bless her, knew this ages ago). Whenever he started thinking that he should try to meet someone again, the thought of getting hurt was always enough to make him rush back towards the safety that he knew, constricting though it may be. 

Martin yawned; he was finally feeling a bit tired. He went back to his bed and began thinking in the dark, waiting for sleep to come.

In his mind he tried to mentally form a picture, and work through it - he was sitting in a boat, tied to a dock in a harbor. The rope holding him back was protecting him from the inevitable harm that would come if he set sail. And he’d been okay staying there, sitting in the dock. He’d been there awhile, and knew what to expect. But then he saw Tim in his own boat, far enough away that he had had to shout and wave to get Martin’s attention. Tim couldn’t get any further into the harbor; he was waiting for Martin to come to him. But the rope was holding Martin back, to keep him safe. “Thank you for keeping me safe,” he said to the rope as he slowly untied it. “But I need to go now.” The rope would have a force of its own and be difficult to remove, but Martin would eventually manage. The last image he had in his mind as he fell asleep was paddling out to meet Tim in the water, where they could row together.

—————————————————

Elsewhere in London, Jonathan Sims was also having nightmares. His had never completely left him, though. He never knew when they - when she - would deign to show up in his sleep, when all of his defenses were down. Sometimes he could go for months without a single night terror, only to then have one every night for weeks straight. Other times, she came every other evening, her hunger for his panic utterly insatiable. The more she fed off of him at night, the worse he felt during the day, and sleeping pills didn’t help. If anything, they made it worse by preventing him from waking up in the middle of a gruesome memory. He’d rather risk it and not take any than be trapped in his own dream state.

It was true that his muscle spasms made it difficult to sleep, he hadn’t been lying to anyone; he just…hadn’t been telling whole truth.

Sleeping pills only treat the symptom, they wouldn’t cure his problem. It was hard to explain that to doctors he’d seen. There was no way to banish Her from his mind at night, that he knew of. She was already dead. She was just somehow able to torment him in spite of that.

The memories he was tortured by while he slept were different snippets from his time with her when he was a child. As though she couldn’t let him forget (not that he’d be able to, anyway). Sometimes, he would wake up in the dark and find himself trapped in a small room, more like a small box, with barely enough space to stretch his legs, and certainly not enough to sit up or stand. There was no light; he couldn’t see his hand in front of his own face. He would press against the top and all the sides, looking for a way out, and failing. He would bang against the walls and shout for help, but no one would come. 

Then he would wake up again, for real this time, in his own flat. He would always find himself in the same state afterwards: out of bed and shut inside his closet, his fists red and raw from pounding on the door and his voice sore from screaming. It was a wonder he hadn’t been evicted yet.

This night he was experiencing a different memory fragment. He was a boy, sitting in a dark room a bit bigger than the box, with no window. He was huddled in a corner, knees to his chest, trying to keep warm in the unheated space without a blanket. He could hear something scurrying, though it was very subtle. Then he heard more - the sound of dozens, hundreds of little insect legs on the cement floor. He couldn’t see them, but he could just imagine them crawling out of every crevice on each wall and the ceiling, running towards him to cover him completely and suffocate him.

He woke up with a start, just as he began to feel them descend on his body. He turned on the bedside lamp and saw that he had scratches all over himself, from trying to get the bugs off. 

These unwelcome intrusions are why he tried to put off sleeping for as long as he could, but even he couldn’t go without sleep forever, and it was then when she was most likely to pounce.

Jon got out of bed to take a cold shower - it would help with the inflammation. 

He’d been having these flashbacks ever since his abduction as a child. It had been over 20 years since it had happened, and they were still as clear as ever. He really thought they would have gone away with time but they just…never did. They stayed. She stayed. He felt like she was still victimizing him well after he had been found. It wasn’t fair.

He dried himself off and put on clean pyjamas, and decided to try sleeping on the couch, hoping a change of scenery would help. He tightly clutched a blanket and left a lamp on, just in case, hesitantly took half a sleeping pill, and tried to get some rest. 

————————

Despite waking up late the next morning, Martin was more tired than usual, after his night of fitful sleep. He had slept better after his nightmare, but what he really needed was a full night’s sleep. He didn’t have to go into work until 12:00 since he was working until 7:00, so he was able to take it slow, mercifully. He made himself a pot of tea and tried to do a crossword puzzle as he pulled himself together for his day. 

He checked his schedule - massage appointments all day, including one with Georgie’s friend, Jon. He knew the day would go quickly, and that he’d be meeting Tim for their date sooner than he realized. Martin never brought people to his work, so he hoped the staff - ahem, Helen - wouldn’t make a big fuss and scare Tim off when he picked Martin up. Helen had made comments to him over the years about his (lack of) dating life - nothing terrible, but still. It was hard not to be involved in everyone’s business in a small office like that, he supposed.

As if on cue:

_you on for tonight? :)_

Tim had a real knack for texting him just as he was thinking of him.

_Can’t wait!_

_Perfect; see you at 7:00_  
_Have a most excellent day ;)_

_Likewise :)  
_

Martin took a shower and started getting ready for work, purposely ignoring the subtle feeling of dread in his stomach leftover from last night’s reminiscences. He really didn’t want to blow this…whatever it was…with Tim. Not yet.

————  
His first appointment passed by quickly; it was with a regular client whom he had a good relationship with. She was fairly tall, so he had to put on a table extender so her limbs would fit comfortably. They’d been chatting amiably during her treatment - she’d seen him for years, since shortly after he first became a massage therapist, and they knew each other quite well. He found himself lost in thought as he worked through some knots on her thigh muscles, which she quickly picked up on. 

“You’re not usually this quiet,” Annabelle said. 

“You always were quite perceptive,” replied Martin, but he didn’t elaborate. 

“Hmmmm. Let me see. Something unusual is happening, isn’t it? Something…out of the ordinary,” she said, fishing for details.

“Now, whatever gave you that idea?” he responded. He could do this all afternoon.

“Oh, just - you seem distracted, haven’t been saying much, I can practically hear the gears in your brain turning and turning.” 

“It’s that obvious?”

“It is. Your poker face isn’t that good, I’m afraid.” 

Martin didn’t say anything. 

“That bad, eh?” she asked, starting to get a bit concerned. 

Martin knew she was his client, but they had known each other for several years; it was natural to share things with friends, wasn’t it?

“Well…nothing bad, per se. I…I’m going on a…date, after work,” he finally admitted, before beginning to work on her feet.

“Aha, I see. God that feels amazing.” She laid in silence for a few moments while he worked. “Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

Martin paused. “Y-yeah, it is good,” he said in a somewhat high-pitched voice. He could tell Annabelle was waiting for him to continue; she wouldn’t let him off easily. It took him awhile. “I just - it’s kind of…been awhile?” He usually didn’t sound so awkward with clients but something about the way Annabelle was talking to him made him open up more.

“I see. Well, I hope he is a gentleman and that he sweeps you off your feet. If he doesn’t, you have my number.” 

Martin chuckled. “That I do. I think it will be fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

“Annabelle,” he said with a tone of warning in his voice. “You’re not my therapist.”

“Do you even have a therapist, Martin?”

“…No.”

“Well, I will happily take on the role. Don’t talk to me about conflicts of interest, I care not a whit.”

Martin knew Annabelle usually got what she wanted, not that he minded. He did need a therapist. He just didn’t think it would be, or should be, one of his clients. But he felt compelled to open up to her, regardless.

“Alright, alright. Let’s just say…I don’t have a very good track record with men and - I’m - nervous. That something might happen.”

“There, was that so hard? No, don’t answer that.” She let him work for awhile, which he appreciated. They fell into a lull in their conversation as he rubbed the balls of her feet. 

There were a few more minutes left in her session. “Anything else you want me to work on before we finish?” he asked her.

“My forearms, please, they’ve been giving me grief lately.”

He uncovered her right forearm and started gently kneading the muscles and tendons.

“Ugh, that feels amazing,” she said. “And Martin, I think your date - it will go just fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile, which he found himself returning. 

“Th-thank you, Annabelle, I - I hope it will,” he said. 

He worked on her other forearm before saying, “Our time is up, Annabelle - how do you feel?”

“Just wonderful, as usual. Relaxed and calm.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Uh, thank you for your…reassurances,” he said awkwardly.

She gave him a wink. “You’re welcome. You’d better tell me how it goes.” 

“I - I will,” he said as he left the room to take a quick break before his next appointment.

————

After Annabelle left, Martin tidied up the room for Jon. _The new one with the scars,_ he reminded himself. Not that Jon was the only one with scars. It was just something important for Martin to remember while working on him. 

Helen hadn’t notified him that Jon had come yet, so he went to the break area to get some water and a snack. He started playing card games on his phone to pass the time. 

At 1:08 he finally got word from Helen; he’d been starting to think Jon would be a no-show, probably out of nerves. He wouldn’t have blamed him, honestly; the guy had been something of a nervous wreck yesterday. 

Martin walked into the reception area and saw two things. Well, two people. One was Jon, who was sort of…sheepishly cowering, if a grown man can cower, behind the other person in the room, Georgie. Georgie looked a bit ticked off, and Jon looked as though he’d been dragged into the office by his collar.

“Martin. I am so sorry that this man is late,” Georgie said in an irritated voice, pointing to Jon, who was looking down. “I was worried he wouldn’t show, which was a correct assumption on my part, it turns out. I hope it won’t happen again,” she said as she stared daggers in Jon, who looked as though he wanted to get swallowed up by the floor.

“It’s okay, Georgie, thank you; I’ll take it from here. I’m glad you came, Jon.” Martin tried to sound as gentle and earnest as possible. He didn’t particularly like that Georgie had forced Jon here, but…that’s Georgie for you, he supposed. “Are you feeling well enough to go ahead today? Would you like to reschedule? It’s not a problem.”

Jon looked up at Martin with a pained expression. “Uh, I - I - yes, I - please, I’d like to keep my appointment, if it’s not too late.” 

“Definitely not too late, although in the future if you could let us know when you’ll be late, we would appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course; I’m - sorry,” Jon said with an ashamed look on his face.

Martin wanted to give him a pat on the shoulder, but resisted. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s take you back. See you later, Georgie,” he said as he waved. Georgie waved back and left, seemingly satisfied that Jon would no longer try to escape. 

Martin walked Jon back to his room, and closed the door behind him. “Alright Jon, this is where I’ll be working on you. You’re sure you want to do this? I know how…Georgie can get. It’s totally okay if you can’t go through with it today.” He looked kindly at the man who was hunched over, trying to avoid eye contact.

Jon looked up at him with scared eyes, and seemed to visibly relax at Matin’s gaze. “Ye - yes, I do. I do want to do this. I’m sorry about all of - that,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

Martin smiled. “It’s okay, really. We won’t have as much time as we would typically have, but we’ll still have a solid 45 minutes. Now, as I’m working, if you want me to stop at any time, please let me know, and I will, no questions asked. The way I usually start out before anything happens is to ask what you’d like to work on today. Do you have the form Helen made you fill out, with your preferences and so forth?” 

Jon handed over the sheet he’d been given when he’d arrived.

“Brilliant. Okay, I remember from yesterday you had issues with spasming in your back and neck difficulty; was there anything else you wanted me to focus, or avoid?” 

Jon stuttered, “Ah, no - no, that - that’s good.” He paused and Martin could see he was preparing to say something. “I - can I leave my trousers on? Just…for today?”

“Of course, of course you can; it’s always totally up to you, Jon,” Martin said, trying to be reassuring. “I’m going to leave the room, and I’d like you to remove your shirt, if you’re okay with that, then get under the sheets on the table, face down, alright? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Al-alright,” Jon said, as Martin closed the door. 

_Okay so far,_ he said to himself while taking a sip of water down the hall. He’d have to ask Georgie not to drag people to their massage appointments next time he saw her; he’d also made a mental note to check in on Jon often during their time together. 

Martin approached the door and knocked. “Can I come in?” 

He heard a muffled, “Yes,” in response, and he entered the room.

Jon was laying on his stomach, sheet and blanket pulled up over him so only his head was uncovered, and his face was resting on a face cradle attached to the table. Martin lowered the lights to make them quite dim, which he thought Jon would appreciate. The massage studio’s gentle music was piped in at a low volume. “Would you like the table warmer on? It’s a heating pad that runs the length of the table.”

“Uh - sure,” Jon said.

Martin clicked it on. “Let me know if it’s too hot.” He took a bolster pillow out. “I’m going to put a pillow under your lower legs, to get your body in better alignment, alright?” He heard Jon grunt affirmatively, and he gently lifted the sheets to slide the pillow under the front of his calves, clad as they were in jeans, before covering him again. 

“I’d like to start with your neck and shoulders, okay, Jon? I’m going to sit in front of you and start that way.”

“Alright.”

Martin walked to the back of the room and took a seat in a chair in front of Jon’s head. He gently pushed back the covers a little to expose Jon’s upper shoulders, and, even in the dim lighting, he noticed dozens of small, round circles covering the area. _Hmm, haven’t seen ones like that before,_ he thought to himself, as he got some massage oil on his hands and started touching Jon’s neck. 

He started by lightly running his fingers up and down the neck, feeling for tension; he quickly realized he should be feeling for the areas where there wasn’t any tension - the man’s neck was full of tight little knots, virtually crying out for relief. “You carry quite a bit of tension here,” he said as he slowly started working out some of the gnarls. 

“You’re telling me,” Jon scoffed, then moaned as Martin hit a particularly sensitive one. “So-sorry,” he said, a bit embarrassed

“It’s okay - am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels - it feels good. ‘m just not used to it,” Jon mumbled. 

“Please tell me if I’m using too much pressure, or not enough, for that matter,” Martin added. He continued working on Jon’s neck for a little while and moved to his jaw. Pretty much everyone he worked on carried tension in their jaw and were somewhat surprised at how it felt when he worked on it. Jon was no different. He moaned again, making Martin smile a bit. _Seems to be going okay_, he thought to himself. Jon didn’t seem to be much of a talker, but that was okay with him.

“I’m going to move to your shoulders and upper chest now,” he announced. He got more massage oil, then started touching Jon’s shoulders. The circles were slightly raised from the skin around them, almost like - were they burns? They couldn’t be. _What would make a mark like that?_, he wondered as he worked. He didn’t find them repellent in the slightest, he was just curious about them, as someone who had seen many scars over the years. These were unique.

Martin started feeling for all the knots in Jon’s upper back, and started slowly working on one of the bigger ones; when he first touched it, Jon flinched. “Alright?” Martin asked. He stopped. 

“Alright. It’s just - quite sore.”

“So it is. I’ll use more gentle pressure on this one. You’ve created quite a knot here,” Martin replied as he slowly and gently worked it out with the palm of his hand. He noticed Jon’s breathing seemed to have regulated - it was slower and steadier than the anxious pace he’d exhibited when he first came in.

Martin worked on Jon’s shoulders for several minutes, though he could have spent the rest of the session on them what with how tense they were. He had to move on, though. “I’m going to reach under your chest and do a little work that way, okay?”

Jon muttered, “Okay,” and Martin got more oil on his hands, then reached underneath Jon’s shoulders to his upper chest. He couldn’t feel the same raised rings there; the skin seemed unmarked, at least by touch. He pressed his fingertips into the muscles and started working out some of the tension they held.

“Could - could you use more pressure please?” Jon asked. 

“Yes, of course,” Martin replied before applying more pressure to the tense muscles. He must have hit a good spot, because Jon moaned again. He got the sense Jon usually didn’t moan…ever, in the other parts of his life. It was such a natural, spontaneous reaction, but one that people typically didn’t do in front of strangers. _I have such a weird job,_ he thought to himself as he continued working. He got to see people, strangers really, in a pretty vulnerable state. First-timers generally started out feeling embarrassed by the sounds they made, but quickly got over it. Jon was doing just fine.

Martin made some real progress on Jon’s upper chest; he found that working it this way allowed for more pressure than if he simply massaged it from above while the client was on their back, though he did that, too. 

“Alright, Jon, I’d like to uncover you a bit more to work on the rest of your back - is that okay?”

Jon paused. “Um - let’s - let’s try it,” he said slowly.

“Okay. Just tell me if you want me to stop, alright?” Martin got up and walked behind Jon’s head and gently removed the covers, then folded them down at his waist. Jon seemed to shudder as he was uncovered, but didn’t say anything, and his breathing appeared to quicken.

Martin put more massage oil on his hands and warmed them up a bit as he looked at Jon’s back and arms. Every part of exposed skin from his shoulders on down was…covered in the same very small, raised circles; they appeared at random, rather than in even lines or columns, and crowded his skin. Like he had been…_infested? But with what?_, Martin thought to himself. Jon had assured him before that he wasn’t infected with anything, and these did seem quite old. Martin was just very curious about what could cause such a thing, from a medical perspective. 

“Is it - is it okay?” Jon asked hesitantly, so quietly Martin strained to hear.

Martin realized he’d been staring just a smidge too long without touching him. “Is what - oh, yes, it’s very okay, Jon. You’re fine; don’t worry.” _He must be terrified of what I think,_ Martin thought. He was really starting to feel sorry for the man. Who knows the last time Jon had shown his bare skin to anyone.

He rubbed his hands slowly down Jon’s back with light pressure, feeling for areas that needed the most attention. Jon shuddered again as he did so, and quickly said, “It’s fine, it’s good.” Martin said, “Okay,” and started working on a very large mass of knots in the middle of his back, the one that made Jon tremble the most as he felt it. He started slowly rubbing it with his whole palm, then got deeper into it with his fingers. Slowly, after about ten minutes or so, the mass started to recede, and Jon’s breathing became deeper and more relaxed.

Jon spoke up. “I think that was the area that was spasming the most.”

“I’m sure it was - you have quite a colony of knots here,” Martin replied as he continued working on it. “I’d like to spend the rest of the session working on your back, unless you want me to work on your forearms, or other areas?”

“That’s fine. I’ll have to…come back again, for the rest.” 

Martin grinned. “I think that’s a great idea.”

He continued working on knots throughout Jon’s scarred back until their time was up, in silence; the only noises aside from the music were occasional whimpers from Jon as Martin worked on particularly sore areas, which pleased Martin greatly. He knew how much pain Jon was, and was glad he could make him feel a bit better. He was really grateful that Jon had started to trust him. 

He pulled the sheet back up and tucked it under Jon’s shoulders as he said, “Jon, our time is up for today. How do you feel?”

“I feel-“ Jon stopped and seemed to really think about it. “I feel much - better.” 

“I’m really glad to hear that. I’m going to step out so you can get dressed, and I’ll come back to bring you back to the reception desk.” 

He left and closed the door behind him, then went to sip some water and jot down some notes for Jon. 

He came back after a couple of minutes and knocked on the door. “Alright?”

Jon opened the door and looked at Martin; he was standing straighter than before, and looked the most relaxed Martin had ever seen him. “Thank - thank you, Martin. That was…I feel better already.” 

“Excellent, that’s what I like to hear. I wrote down a few notes from our session today, with some stretches you can do at home. Try to take a bath tonight with lots of Epsom salt, to help your muscles recover. They’ve just been through a lot of manipulation so they may be sore for a few days. Though this shouldn’t happen, if they feel worse by the middle of next week, please call us so we can help.”

He handed the sheet to Jon and continued. “I would recommend you come in again in a couple of weeks, since we didn’t have a full hour today, and you carry a lot of tension. You can make another appointment with Helen up front. How does all of that sound?”

Jon almost…smiled and said, “That sounds - good. I will do that. Th-thanks for, for everything, Martin,” he said shyly.

Martin smiled. “You’re most welcome, Jon.” He escorted him back to the reception desk. 

“Your 2:00 is here,” Helen said, not looking up from her computer. 

“Thanks, Helen, I’ll be right there. Hope to see you soon, Jon,” he said with a wave. Jon almost…waved back. It was rather cute. 

He walked back to his room to prepare for the next client and quickly use the toilet. _That went rather well, I think. __Only…five more hours until Tim,_ he reminded himself. As if he could forget. He chose at that moment to feel excitement, and not dread. _This will be a dread-free zone_ he told himself, trying to channel Sasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next episode of the Masseur:
> 
> -Jon's POV of the massage
> 
> -Martin actually goes on date number 2! I wonder what Tim the Magic Man has in store for our beloved Martin.
> 
> -Helen continues to answer the phone. Thank you, Helen.
> 
> P.S. I have to share [this illustration ](https://linecrosser.tumblr.com/post/188950884911/tense-man-needs-to-relax) from Linecrosser on tumblr of Jon getting a massage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Our man Jon's POV of the massage with Martin
> 
> \- Our man Martin's second date with our man Tim!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much less traumatic than chapter five; it makes me feel like this: 🥰 Hope you enjoy.

On Saturday morning, Jon woke up, which was an achievement - it meant that he had fallen asleep. He opened eyes and found himself tangled up in sheets on his couch, face uncomfortably pressed against the cushions, but thankfully he was in his own apartment, and not in a windowless room, like he’d imagined hours earlier. He maneuvered himself out of the snarl and reached for his phone - okay, he had a few hours before his appointment with Martin, as his calendar app cheerfully reminded him.

His nightmare and cold shower the night before had sort of melded together into one confusing fever dream; he only figured that he hadn’t been asleep the whole time because he still felt clean from his shower, and because, while it wasn’t impossible that he would set up sheets and blankets on his couch while totally asleep, it was quite unlikely.

He similarly had to remind himself that his dream of being consumed by insects was only a dream (or, well, a memory). He closely inspected his skin for new marks, and didn’t see any, which was a small relief. One could never be too sure. Jon had had too many dreams like this, in which he questioned his current reality, to not have a regimen of in place, an actual reality check that he gave himself. Establishing where he was, his condition, whether he needed to escape, and whether he needed medical attention were all questions he asked himself on a not-infrequent basis. It was one of his healthier coping mechanisms.

Satisfied that he was safe at home and free of bug bites, Jon got up to do the next thing on his checklist - make a cup of tea. _You can never go wrong,_ he thought to himself. Closing his eyes and concentrating on making and sipping the beverage was a kind of meditation that helped bring him back to earth. It was grounding, and he needed more grounding influences.

Speaking of grounding…

_MORNING JONATHAN_   
_ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR MASSAGE TODAY_   
_THERE IS ONLY ONE RIGHT ANSWER_

Jon groaned. Georgie.

_Morning to you, too_   
_Well I haven’t completely left town, so_   
_There’s a better than 50/50 chance I’ll follow through_

_I’ll see about that, Sims. _

Oh dear.

Some might call her pushy, but Jon knew she would call herself assertive. Once he’d described a woman as “pushy,” and he’d gotten an earful. “‘Pushy’ is a gendered term, Jon; have you ever noticed that men are never called ‘pushy’? And besides, why is it a bad thing, anyway?” She had a point there.

Anyway, she was assertive, but he knew she only had his best interests at heart. Everyone else in the world, it seemed, had more of Jon’s best interests at heart than he did himself. He was hoping some of her influence might rub off on him someday.

Jon didn’t try to make himself do any work outside the apartment that morning; realistically, he needed to recover from his troubling night, and focus on manifesting himself walking into the massage therapy office, like he was just a regular person doing a regular errand. He made himself some toast and took it back to his couch to eat while he continued reading about the history of vampires.

It turned out that reading about vampires for a few hours wasn’t entirely relaxing. By the time 12:40 came around, his paranoia and anxiety were creeping back, not helped at all by his lack of proper food intake. He started having second thoughts. _It would be easier to just stay here, _ he thought; maybe he never needed to come out again. He was safe here. It was dangerous in the outside world, where anything could happen to you.

He was beginning to think himself into a spiral, right on schedule. At least he was consistent.

It was then that his “guardian angel” rang the buzzer for his building. “Let me up, Jon, I know you’re in there,” a familiar voice said over the speaker. And as ever, he did what she said.

Georgie came to his door a few minutes later, and shook her head in disappointment. “I knew you’d still be here. You need to get going if you want to get to your appointment even halfway on time,” she scolded.

He felt like he couldn’t leave the anxiety vortex that his apartment had become. “Georgie, I - “

“Shut up, there’s no time. Here, put your jacket on; we’re leaving.”

She threw his jacket at him, which he quickly put on, then put his wallet in his jeans on the way out the door.

“We’ll have to take a cab, we’ll never make it on time otherwise. You can pay me back later,” Georgie said while they walked out the door. “Somehow I knew this would happen, so I planned ahead.”

Waiting for them outside his building was a cab; presumably, it was the one Georgie had taken to his flat.

“You think of everything,” he said.

“You’re just very predictable.”

They got in and Georgie gave the driver the address. “The faster you can get us there, the better,” she added. “Tip will be higher, too.”

Georgie sat back and sighed. “Jon. Jon, Jon, Jon. What am I going to do with you?” She finally turned to give a good look at him. “You look terrible; what happened to you?”

Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I - had the nightmare again.”

Georgie put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Jon, I’m sorry. I should have asked. I can get so pushy sometimes.”

“Georgie, did you know ‘pushy’ is a gendered term?”

“Oh, shut up,” she said with a slight smile. She then turned serious. “Really, though, I am sorry. I had hoped they’d gotten better since we….” She didn’t finish that thought.

“Me too.”

They sat together in comfortable silence the rest of the way, Jon resting his head on her shoulder.

They pulled up to Camden Massage, and Georgie broke out of her reverie after checking the time. “Shit, we’re late. Fuck. I don’t want Martin thinking I’m one of _those_ people.” She grabbed Jon to pull him out of the cab.

“But it’s not even your appointment,” he protested as she pulled him by the shirt into the building. He looked at the clock in the waiting room - it was 1:07.

“Georgie Barker, here for - I mean - Jonathan Sims, here for Martin,” Georgie quickly said to Helen.

“I’ll let Martin know you’re - he’s here,” Helen said, slightly amused. “Please fill out this form, Jon.” He quickly filled it out, indicating his massage preferences.

Martin came out to meet them very quickly, evidently waiting for Jon’s arrival. Now Jon was starting to feel embarrassed about being late; he’d rather not show up at all than inconvenience someone. He looked at the floor.

He could hear Georgie start unloading at Martin about how worried she was they would be late, sounding quite angry with Jon, and he tried to tune it out and pretend this wasn’t happening. Martin didn’t seem too upset, though.

“It’s okay, Georgie, thank you; I’ll take it from here. I’m glad you came, Jon,” he heard Martin say, with what he thought was a hint of testiness directed at his friend. In a more gentle voice, Martin asked him, “Are you feeling well enough to go ahead today? Would you like to reschedule? It’s not a problem.”

Jon looked up for the first time since entering the office and saw Martin’s face, which was so kind and open; it was a little distracting. “Uh, I - I - yes, I - please, I’d like to keep my appointment, if it’s not too late.”

Martin gave him a reassuring look. “Definitely not too late, although in the future if you could let us know when you’ll be late, we would appreciate it.”

He felt the sting of shame start to form in himself. “Of course, of course; I’m - sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s take you back. See you later, Georgie.” Martin motioned for Jon to follow him; Jon looked at Georgie on his way back to the room and mouthed “bye” to her before quickly turning back around to avoid whatever look she was sure to give him. “GoodBYE, Jonathan,” he heard her say. Phew.

He followed Martin down the same hallway he’d been through yesterday; this time they stepped into one of the massage rooms, and Martin closed the door behind them. Jon was looking around, familiarizing himself with it as Martin spoke. He was still a bit tense from that scene in the waiting room. And from his nightmare. And, honestly, from life in general.

“Alright Jon, this is where I’ll be working on you. You’re sure you want to do this? I know how…Georgie can get. It’s totally okay if you can’t go through with it today.”

Martin waited for him to respond so he quickly looked up and was reassured again by Martin’s kind eyes. “Ye - yes, I do. I do want to do this. I’m sorry about all of - that,” he said, waving his hand; he didn’t know how else to describe it.

Martin smiled and reassured him, “It’s okay, really.” He started talking about how he would proceed, and asked for Jon’s form, which he dutifully handed over.

“Brilliant. Okay, I remember from yesterday you had issues with spasming in your back and neck difficulty; was there anything else you wanted me to focus, or avoid?”

_He remembered,_ Jon thought. _Well, it **was** only yesterday that I talked to him. _ “Ah, no - no, that - that’s good.” There was something else, though; he started getting nervous thinking about what Georgie had mentioned before - being naked in front of Martin. The idea filled him with anxiety and the distant rumblings of something unfamiliar. “I - can I leave my trousers on? Just…for today?” He was embarrassed already.

“Of course, of course you can; it’s always totally up to you, Jon,” Martin said quickly, and Jon felt instantly comforted. “I’m going to leave the room, and I’d like you to remove your shirt, if you’re okay with that, then get under the sheets on the table, face down, alright? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Al-alright,” Jon said, as Martin closed the door.

Jon waited for a few seconds after the door closed, and took a deep breath. This was it. Here he was.

The room was simple - it had a massage table with an attachment on the back - where his head went, he supposed; some clothes hooks; and a little cabinet with what looked like a tiny refrigerator and some massage oil. The lights were fairly dim already, and he heard some generic relaxing music coming in through a speaker. He took off his shirt and his shoes and socks, and climbed under the covers, fitting his face into the cushioned cradle. It was quite cozy.

His heart started racing as he thought about the moment Martin would see him for the first time, uncovered. What his reaction would be. Would Jon ever be able to come back? Georgie and his doctor were the only people who’d seen him since -

There was a knock on the door. “Can I come in?” he heard Martin ask.

“Yes.”

He heard the door open and close again, and saw that the lights were dimmed even further. _Perfect,_ he thought. _I wonder if he could give a massage in the dark._  
Martin asked him about a table warmer, which sounded delightful. Seconds later he felt the table underneath him start to heat up, which was quite relaxing. _I hope they sell these for mattresses._

“I’m going to put a pillow under your lower legs, to get your body in better alignment, alright?” Martin asked.

“Okay,” he muttered, then felt Martin lift the sheets over his lower legs and put a cushion underneath.

Martin spoke in a voice even more soothing than usual. _This must be his masseur voice,_ Jon thought. It was very calming. “I’d like to start with your neck and shoulders, okay, Jon? I’m going to sit in front of you and start that way.”

“Alright.”

He heard Martin walk around the table and sit very close to his head. He held his breath as he felt Martin reach for the covers that Jon had tucked around himself and push them back a little bit to expose the skin. _Here we go._

Martin said nothing, didn’t even make a noise, which Jon had been expecting him to do. Jon knew his scars were…strange. Everyone who’d seen them until that point hadn’t been able to help themselves and ask, “Where on earth did you get those?” either in horror or interest (and he wasn’t sure which reaction was better). Martin just kept going as though this were all perfectly normal, which he was immensely grateful for.

He felt Martin’s warm fingers begin to run along his neck, which had been giving him a lot of trouble lately. Even just his touch felt great. He heard Martin say, “You carry a bit of tension here,” and Jon wanted to laugh. What an understatement.

“You’re telling me.” At that moment Martin found an especially sore spot and Jon couldn’t control the sound that came out of his mouth, and he felt instantly embarrassed. “So- sorry,” he mumbled. He was glad Martin couldn’t see his face.

“It’s okay, Jon - am I hurting you?” Martin sounded a touch concerned.

“No, it feels - it feels good. ‘m just not used to it.”

“Please tell me if I’m using too much pressure, or not enough, for that matter,” he heard Martin say.

He felt Martin continue to massage his neck and move into his jaw; it all felt…just amazing. He’d never been touched like this before, ever. Martin’s fingers were loudly reminding him that his skin was full of nerve endings, ones which hadn’t been used in ages. He was getting goosebumps from the sensation. _No wonder Georgie does this every month._ He let out another moan without thinking about it, but didn’t apologize this time. There didn’t seem to be a need to.

After a bit, Martin said, “I’m going to move to your shoulders and upper chest now,” and Jon started holding his breath again. Seeing his scars was one thing, but touching them, he feared, would be another.

He heard Martin put more oil in his hands and rub them together, then felt the pads of Martin’s fingers on top of his shoulders; he felt the man knead circles all around the area, again without comment, hitch or hesitation. Each beat of silence made him relax just a little bit more.

Jon could feel that he had some pretty sensitive areas as Martin probed his shoulders, and he flinched when Martin hit one in particular. Martin stopped instantly. “Alright?”

He didn’t want him to stop. “Alright. It’s just - quite sore.”

“So it is. I’ll use more gentle pressure on this one. You’ve created quite a knot here.” Martin continued working on the sore spot. Jon felt him press his whole palm into the muscle and use some of his upper body strength to slowly loosen up the area, then use his fingers for more precise work. Jon didn’t feel like making small talk, but the silence wasn’t awkward like he’d been expecting. Martin was clearly focused on him. It felt nice.

Soon, though, he heard Martin say he was going to work on Jon’s chest from the same angle; Jon was relieved that Martin hadn’t asked him to turn over yet. He had scars on his front, too, but they were different, more…obvious. He’d just have to put off worrying about that issue until later.

Jon felt Martin’s hands reach under his body to work on his upper chest muscles. The weight of Jon’s upper body pushing down on Martin’s hands was unexpectedly pleasant and yielded more pressure; it felt so good that he hesitantly asked for even more pressure, and Martin obliged.

Jon had never realized how much tension he must have carried in his chest, because Martin hit one particular area, and he heard himself moan again. This was without question the most he’d moaned in his whole life. He wondered how often Martin made his other clients moan, and made a mental note to ask Georgie about that.

He felt Martin remove his hands. “Alright, Jon, I’d like to uncover you a bit more to work on the rest of your back - is that okay?”

Jon instantly stopped breathing and felt the icy trickle of anxiety enter his stomach once again, like a terrible but reliable friend. _I really need some new friends, _ he thought. Well, Martin hadn’t given him any reason to distrust him yet. This would be the real test.

After several moments, he said, “Um - let’s - let’s try it.”

He imagined Martin must have heard the hesitancy in his voice, and he heard Martin say slowly and softly, “Okay. Just tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

“Alright,” he near-whispered.

He heard Martin get up and walk around the table, then held his breath as he felt Martin reach for the covers by his shoulders and lift them off his body. Jon shivered as the man exposed his entire back, full of marks, and he froze. He waited. One beat, two beats, three - Martin was definitely staring at him; he could tell.

Jon was terrified. “Is it - is it okay?” he whispered, not wanting to hear the answer. He was already mentally preparing to put his clothes back on and exit as quickly as possible; Martin never had to see him again. It would be fine. Fine. Fine.

Martin sounded briefly confused, then quickly recovered. “Is what - oh, yes, it’s very okay, Jon. You’re fine; don’t worry.”

Jon let out a breath he’d been holding for awhile, then felt Martin’s oiled hands run along the length of his spine. He shuddered at the touch - no one had ever touched him like that, in that area (he’d never let them) - but in a good way, which he quickly conveyed to Martin so that he wouldn’t stop. “It’s fine, it’s good.” It was more than fine, more than good.

“Okay,” Martin said. He quickly located a really sensitive area in the middle of Jon’s back and got to work. His hands felt really good, slowly pressing into and around the knots to try and dissolve them. He worked in silence for awhile, and Jon found himself actually, fully relaxing, maybe for the first time in his life. Martin had seen him, and hadn’t run; he hadn’t even said anything. Martin was still here, still with him. Jon felt a warmth begin to bloom in his chest.

Jon finally broke the silence and said, “I think that was the area that was spasming the most.”

“I’m sure it was - you have quite a colony of knots here,” he heard Martin say while still massaging him. “I’d like to spend the rest of the session working on your back, unless you want me to work on your forearms, or other areas?”

“That’s fine. I’ll have to…come back again, for the rest.” He hadn’t been sure before the appointment if there would be a next time, but now, he knew there would be. He might even let Martin work on the rest his chest. Maybe.

“I think that’s a great idea.” It sounded as though Martin was smiling as he said it. _I do wish I could see his face. That’s the only downside to this arrangement, _ he thought.

Jon didn’t want it to end, but soon enough he felt Martin stop and cover him back up. “Jon, our time is up for today; how do you feel?”

“I feel -“ He took a final deep breath. There was too much he could say, so he opted to say not very much. “I feel much - better.”

Martin sounded most pleased; he supposed Martin may have been nervous, too, though he didn’t show it. “I’m really glad to hear that. I’m going to step out so you can get dressed, and I’ll come back to bring you back to the reception desk.”

Jon heard the door close as Martin left. He slowly got off of the table and stretched a bit - his back and neck felt much looser than they did before; it didn’t hurt to turn his head, and he didn’t feel like hunching so much. He hadn’t felt this good in years.

Jon put his shirt, jacket, and shoes back on, and he soon heard a soft knock; he opened the door and let Martin back in. He didn’t quite know how to express his gratitude for what Martin had given him. He stumbled through, saying, “Thank - thank you, Martin. That was…I feel better already.”

“Excellent, that’s what I like to hear.” Martin talked about stretches and aftercare or whatever, but Jon wasn’t really paying attention. He was distracted by Martin’s face - well, his lips in particular. He hadn’t been able to look at the guy much during their session, which was unfortunate.

Martin gave him a piece of paper then recommended he make another appointment in two weeks.

He felt the sides of his lips raise a bit (_am I…smiling?_ he thought) and said, “That sounds - good. I will do that. Th-thanks for, for everything, Martin.” He hoped the dim lighting hid the slight blush forming on his cheeks.

Martin gave him what appeared to be a genuine smile in return. “You’re most welcome, Jon.” They then walked back to the waiting room.

“Hope to see you soon, Jon,” Martin said when they got back to Helen’s desk. Jon lifted his arm up and…waved? Who was he, and what had he done with the real Jon? But Martin gave him a little grin before he turned around to prepare his room for the next person.

“How was everything?” asked Helen.

How could he even begin to describe….“Oh, it was - it was - perfect. I mean, it was very good. Really good.”

He scheduled another appointment in two weeks, as recommended. He already couldn’t wait.

—————————————

It was 7:00 before Martin realized it; he’d been so busy that afternoon he hadn’t had time to think himself into a hole about his upcoming second date, which was really for the best. He cleaned up his room for the night, then went to change into his evening wear. He had gone with a casual blazer instead of his usual cardigan this time, since he wasn’t sure how fancy Tim was going to go.

While he was in the hallway approaching the waiting room, he could hear Helen…laughing, quite uproariously. He didn’t know she could laugh like that. He walked into the room to see Tim draped over the reception desk, Helen dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

“Hello, Tim. I see you’ve met Helen.”

“Oh, Martin - Tim is an absolute delight.” Tim curtsied, and Martin stifled a grin.

“And Helen - a finer receptionist, I have not known,” Tim said.

“Oh, stop,” Helen said with a big smile.

“Shall we?” Tim offered Martin his arm.

“See you on Tuesday, Helen; have a delightful weekend,” Martin called out.

“You, too,” she said in a singsong voice that Martin tried to ignore. He was sure she was winking at him behind his back.

“So this is the famous Camden Massage, then?” Tim said as they got outside.

“Indeed. Thanks for meeting me here.” He got a good look at Tim’s outfit - he was wearing Chelsea boots, burgundy corduroy pants, a white button-up shirt, a dark gray brocade vest and matching jacket, and a camel-colored wool overcoat. He looked _quite_ fetching and stylish. “You, uh, you look…very nice. I feel a bit…underdressed?”

“Nonsense - you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Tim said kindly, giving Martin a once-over that left him a little dizzy.

“Um, so - where are we off to, then?”

“Well, I imagine all that massaging has made you quite peckish,” Tim said with an eyebrow waggle, which made Martin blush a little, “so I made reservations at one of my favorite Greek restaurants nearby.”

“That’s perfect, I am pretty hungry. I had a long day.” _Probably won’t have any crusty rolls there,_ he thought to himself, slightly disappointed.

They walked the short distance to the restaurant, and were whisked to a reserved table in a semi-private alcove. Tim pulled out a chair for Martin to sit in. “Uh - oh - thank - thank you,” he stuttered as he realized what was happening, which only made Tim’s existing grin grow larger. Martin started asking himself if he wasn’t just dreaming up this attractive man who was a nurse, wanted to date him, and had better manners than any man his age he’d ever met. It would make more sense than Tim Stoker actually being a real person. It would mean that…there was no excuse for everyone else not to be just like Tim. What a world that would be.

Tim ordered them some wine and tzatziki for an appetizer.

Martin decided to break the ice with the strong opening question of “So…how was your day, then?”

“Oh, it was fine. Long. I worked today, too. Sometimes I barely get enough time to eat a proper meal, if someone’s having a health crisis, or whatever. Makes the day go by quicker, though. And you?”

“It’s the same for me - Saturdays are always the busiest, since we’re closed on Sundays; everyone wants their massage on the weekend. I was booked solid. Really glad I had this to look forward to, though.” He smiled.

Tim smiled back. “Likewise.”

Their server came with their wine and tzatziki, and took their orders for their main dish.

“Moussaka for me, please,” said Tim.

“Um, I’d like the lamb souvlaki, please,” Martin ordered.

“Cheers,” Tim said, raising his glass and clinking it against Martin’s, and they sipped in silence for a few moments.

“So you’ve been here before?” Martin asked.

“Oh yeah, it’s a favorite of mine. I make the rounds at all of the restaurants around here, since it’s not too far from where I work. What about you?”

“No, never been to this one before. I don’t actually eat at restaurants here much, even though I work nearby. I usually get delivery or takeaway at home.” _So that I can eat alone_, he thought.

“Well, I’ll have to take you out more often, and get you acquainted with the neighborhood! I’m friendly with a lot of the servers around here and can get in pretty much anywhere.”

_Why am I not surprised?_ Martin thought, but he smiled. “I’d like that.”

Their entrees arrived, and they talked companionably for awhile as they ate their food. Martin felt himself becoming comfortable around Tim, an unfamiliar but welcome feeling. Conversation came easy with him, and he always seemed interested in what Martin had to say. It was…nice.

As they finished their wine, Tim said, “So you give people massages for a living…who massages the massage therapist? I mean, I hope _someone_ is taking care of you! It must be hard work rubbing down all those people.”

Martin laughed and blushed a little. “Um, I - you could say that. I actually do get regular massages, we all do, though not at my place; I get them from a former colleague, one of the old teachers from my program. He’s been in the field a long time and specializes in caring for us therapists and our particular needs. Turns out we’re pretty picky about our massages.”

“Yes, I would imagine so,” Tim replied. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting that. All that work must be hard on the body.”

“It can be, if you’re not careful. They taught us about how to care for ourselves in my program; burnout is a big problem.”

“For nursing, too,” Tim nodded.

“And who nurses the nurse?” Martin asked, raising an eyebrow himself, making Tim look…a little shy? Was that possible? Whatever it was, it made him look even more adorable.

“Um, well we, my coworkers and I tend to nurse each other; it’s a benefit of working in a hospital. On any given day I can ask my coworkers about whatever I think might be wrong with me - at least, physically - and they can actually tell me if I should worry or not. And we can get lab results for whatever same day, through the lab in the building. It’s a perk.”

“Well that’s good. Everyone needs a good nurse.”

“I _wholeheartedly_ agree,” Tim said with a wink, making Martin sputter on his last sip of wine. “Want to split some baklava?”

“Love to.”

Tim ordered baklava, which came quickly and was a bit warm and sticky. Martin took half and started eating. “Mmm, this is really good. I love baklava.” He finished it quickly and took a sip of water.

“You have some - here, let me,” Tim said quickly, and before Martin could protest, Tim reached over with his finger to brush off pieces of shattered phyllo dough hanging on Martin’s lips. He was expecting Tim’s finger to be rough, but it was gentle and a little hesitant. Martin briefly closed his eyes as Tim swept his finger on his lower lip, brushing away the crumbs. He was glad he was sitting down, because he was feeling quite a bit dizzy again.

Blood rushed to his cheeks as he stuttered, “Th- thank you, Tim.” He briefly glanced upwards to find Tim looking back at him, his cheeks also a little bit red. He could just hear Sasha’s commentary now: _You two are insufferable! Just make out already!!!_

Tim broke the pleasantly awkward silence. “Well, uh, shall we?”

“What about the bill?”

“Oh, I took care of it.”

“What?! I owe you half!”

“Nonsense, I asked you out, remember? And besides, I want to. You can’t argue with me,” Tim shyly grinned. Martin was beginning to like this shy version of Tim, hiding underneath his confident exterior.

“Well…if you insist. I will get you back for this, though,” Martin threatened, though it came out in a more loving way than he’d intended. _I’ve never been particularly known for being threatening_, he thought.

They left the restaurant and started walking towards the Tube station nearby. “Where to now?” Martin asked.

“Well, I thought we could see a film in Covent Garden. There’s an old Cary Grant film playing, it’s one of my favorites.”

“That sounds great!”

They took the Northern line a few stops south to go to the cinema. Tim bought them a popcorn and drink to share, and they went to find seats. The theater was about half full, mostly with older people, and they found pretty good seats towards the middle.

The film was The Awful Truth; Martin hadn’t seen too many old films before, but enjoyed this one. he thought Cary Grant was quite good at manipulating his face. It was a funny film, too, and hearing Tim laugh made him laugh even harder. He found himself completely absorbed in the plot, and not worrying about what would come next, or if Tim had other plans.

When they left the cinema, it was about 10:30. “That was great, I really enjoyed myself. I’ll have to watch more Cary Grant films,” Martin remarked as they stood outside.

“He’s one of the greats; and he had relationships with men, something I always found interesting.”

“Oh really? Wow.”

“So, can I take you home?” Tim asked.

“Oh, you - you don’t need to do that,” he said nervously.

Tim jumped in. “Not to - I don’t mean - not to come up, or anything, just to…see you off safely.”

He thought for a moment. “Well, I am somewhat close, on the Northern line. Stockwell.”

“That’s not far at all; I insist.”

Martin smiled. “Okay.”

They got on the Tube and made small talk the whole way.

“I’m, uh, just a few blocks this way,” Martin said as they exited Stockwell station. He shivered in the late night cold, and felt Tim wrap his arm around his shoulder. _That feels really nice,_ he thought, as he felt a little bit dizzy again. He leaned into Tim’s arm, and they walked like that in silence until they got to Martin’s building.

Martin didn't quite want their date to end, not yet. It was going so well. “Uh, do you - do you want some tea? I have some nice biscuits upstairs,” he offered, then immediately felt embarrassed. _Enticing men into your flat with the good biscuits, wow!_

Tim studied his face for a moment and said, “Sure, I’ll have some tea. Can’t stay long, though.” Martin tried not to look somewhat relieved.

They went upstairs to his flat. “Please sit on the couch, I’ll be right back.” Martin put his coat in the closet, and hurried into the kitchen to get the water boiling. He prepared a tray with cups, and put tea leaves into strainers, then got his special biscuits and put some on a small plate. “How d’you like your tea?” he called out to Tim.

“Milk, no sugar, please,” he responded.

Martin let the tea steep while he went to the bathroom. After washing up, he looked in the mirror. This was the best date he’d been on…possibly ever. Yes, ever. He’d only known Tim for a few days, but he hadn’t managed to screw things up in that short time (it had been known to happen). Tim showed him a nice time, seemingly without expectation of anything in return, save for his companionship. He really liked him.

_What do I want next?_ he asked himself. He closed his eyes, and immediately he saw a kiss. That was it. That was what he wanted. He took a deep breath.

“Everything alright?” he heard Tim say.

“Fine!” He left the bathroom and went to get the tea; he brought the tray out to the living room and sat next to Tim on the couch. “Here we are. Milk and no sugar for you.”

Tim took a sip from his cup. “Thanks very much. How do you like yours? For future reference, that is,” he said with a wink.

“Uh, milk and sugar.” He sipped his tea. “I, uh, had a really nice time, Tim; thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Tim said with a small seated bow, causing Martin to laugh. “I haven’t known you for long, but I do find myself liking you quite a bit, Martin Blackwood,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Martin blushed as he sipped his tea. He put his mug down on the tray, then glanced up at Tim, who was looking at him very intently, but not moving. _Maybe he’s waiting for me,_ he thought. He wanted to cry.

“I, uh, I like you quite a lot, too, Tim,” he said softly while looking at his lap, then he started picking at an invisible thread on his trousers.

Tim laid his hand on Martin’s, and he stopped fidgeting. It was warm, and larger than his own. He looked up, and Tim was still looking at him carefully through hooded eyes, but not moving.

_Remember what you want,_ he reminded himself. He swallowed, then leaned forward, not breaking eye contact. “Tim?” he whispered.

“Yes?” Tim whispered back. They were so close, Martin could feel Tim’s breath on his face.

“Can I - can I kiss you?” He swallowed again. His heart was fit to burst out of his chest it was beating so hard.

Tim smiled and said, “I thought you’d never ask.” He leaned forward as Martin leaned in, and their faces crashed awkwardly into each other’s.

“S-sorry,” Martin said, embarrassed, as he pulled away.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” Tim said before pulling Martin gently by his collar into a kiss, a successful one this time. Martin’s initial hesitations went by the wayside as he relaxed into Tim’s soft, luscious lips, the ones he’d dreamed of kissing several times since meeting him. He tasted faintly of tea, and honey from the baklava.

Martin put his hands on Tim’s shoulders, wanting to get just a little closer to him. Tim was as good a kisser as he’d hoped. _This is nice,_ he thought. _This is very nice._

It was Tim who pulled away first. They each were a little bit breathless. “I’d been wanting to do that since the first day I saw you,” Tim admitted.

Martin blushed. “You’re - you’re a very good kisser.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” Tim replied, winking.

Martin paused before saying what had been on his mind. “I - I’ve wanted to kiss you, too. But, um, th-thank you for, for giving me time.”

“You’re worth it,” Tim whispered, before moving in for another kiss. Martin accepted it gratefully, letting out a little moan when he felt Tim’s tongue flick across his lips, which he happily received.

Though it was very difficult, Martin pulled away before they got too carried away. “That was - perfect.”

“Agreed,” replied Tim, quite lasciviously.

“Thank you, again, for - all of it,” Martin said.

“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood,” Tim said with a flourish. “I hope we can see each other again soon.”

Martin smiled. “Me too. I know we will."

He walked Tim to the door. “I had a lovely time, best night out I’ve had in ages.”

Tim curtsied, making Martin laugh again. Martin hadn’t laughed this much in a long time.

“I am quite glad.”

“Take care, have a good Sunday.”

“You, too,” Tim replied, before kissing Martin on the cheek and skipping down the hallway.

Martin watched him with amusement and called out, “You are something else, Tim Stoker."

Tim gave a final bow before going down the stairs and exiting the building.

Martin closed the door and stood against it for a moment, taking it all in.

_That was…it was everything I wanted._ He felt happy, and loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next episode of The Masseur:
> 
> -Martin actually sees Sasha in person, who demands the date deets!!!!
> 
> -Jon meets up with Georgie in person, who demands the massage deets!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin talks to Sasha, post-date  
Jon talks to Georgie, post-massage  
Martin gets a massage himself, from an old teacher friend.

“Martin Blackwood, wow! It feels like, I don’t know, your whole life has changed since the last time I saw you. You’ve been somewhat…_preoccupied_ lately,” Sasha said with a big grin as she walked towards Martin, who was sitting at a table in a cafe halfway between his and Sasha’s flat. He looked at her a bit sheepishly and scratched his head.

“Yeah, um, it has been too long.” He got up and gave her a hug, then they both sat down. “I already got you some tea.”

“Perfect.”

It was Sunday morning - technically still morning, it wasn’t quite noon yet - and Martin had agreed late last night to meet her to fill her in on everything that happened. Which was quite a lot. They’d texted but hadn’t seen each other since before he went to the pub quiz at her suggestion earlier that week. _It hasn't even been a week. Christ, _ Martin thought to himself. _And some people go through this…all the time??? I can’t imagine._

“So. You have a boyfriend now?” Sasha asked straight away.

Martin choked on his tea. “So - sorry. Um, I don’t - we haven’t - it’s only been two dates, Sasha!”

“Your face has gone red,” she said with a smile. “Okay, okay. So tell me about last night.”

“Right to it. Well. Okay. It - was…really nice. Really, really nice,” he said, staring into space and reliving some of the moments. “Uh, we went to - that Greek place near the massage office - he met me at work.”

Sasha wrinkled her nose. “Greek food? Lots of garlic in that. Not good for kissing.”

“Sasha!”

“Well, it’s not! I have personal experience.”

“I’m…SURE you do. But it wasn't an issue for us.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Martin blushed a little. “Anyway, he picked me up at work, and he met…Helen.”

“God, I’m sure she absolutely adores him.”

“She does. He had her laughing so hard, I’ve no idea over what. Anyway, we went to dinner, then he took me to see an old Cary Grant film-“

“Which one?”

“The Awful Truth?”

“Oh, I like that one. Seeing a classic film, good choice, Tim.”

“I quite enjoyed it. Then he insisted on accompanying me home.”

“A gentleman. Well, maybe.” Sasha winked.

“I - oh, I hadn't even thought of that."

"You're so naive, sometimes, Martin, that is, when you're not assuming the worst of people," Sasha said playfully.

"Well...yes. Any-anyway, on the way there I was thinking about what would happen when we did get to my flat. And then we were there before I knew it. And I just - made a rash decision and asked him up for some tea.”

Sasha moved in closer and said in a stage whisper, “Did you give him…the special biscuits?” Her voice was dripping with innuendo.

Martin groaned. “If by ‘special biscuits' you mean actual special biscuits, then yes, I gave him the ‘special biscuits.’ The kind that you eat. And I invited him up for ACTUAL tea, Sasha. I haven’t changed THAT much since we last saw each other. And so, I made him tea, and - ” he stopped, briefly lost in thought.

He was interrupted by Sasha impatiently asking, “Well? You can't stop there.”

Martin blushed. “Oh. Um. Well, I was really nervous, as you probably would expect, but I knew I wanted to - to kiss him. We hadn’t…kissed before. Like that. And he seemed to be…holding back, waiting to see what I’d do. It was…nice, actually. I’m…not used to that.”

Sasha looked concerned, and nodded knowingly. “I know.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I just - I just worked up the courage, and tried to talk back to my anxious thoughts - internally - and just…asked him. If I could kiss him.” He paused.

“…And?”

“Um. He said yes. And then we very awkwardly bumped our faces together.”

Sasha giggled. “Oh no!”

“It was bound to happen. But then we got over that and kissed for awhile. And it was…really nice.” He sat thinking about Tim’s lips for a moment, and the way Tim had grasped his collar, pushing them closer together.

“And then…?”

Martin came back to earth. “Oh. Then, he left. Said he had a thing, couldn’t stay. Which was fine with me, since I…still want to take things slowly

“Of course.” She sipped her tea. “Well, Martin, it sounds like you just had yourself a very nice time with a nice man! Tell the crowd how it feels!”

Martin’s face broke out into a big grin. “It feels really good. Really good. I couldn't have done it without you, obviously. I would never have gone to that trivia night if you hadn’t strongly suggested slash forced me to go to it.” Sasha grinned. “And your texts really helped. I - I need some external confidence until I can build my own back up again.”

“S’what I’m here for,” she said, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. “You deserve it, you know. Happiness, whatever form it may take.”

He caught her eye. “Thank you.”

“So, made any other plans yet?”

“No, not yet, it’s been…barely twelve hours since we last saw each other.”

“Hmph. Well, don’t be shy about initiating, you know.”

“Alright, alright. You’ll be the first to know.” They both drank their tea. “Really, though, Sasha - you’re one of my oldest friends, you’ve been through…a lot with me.”

“We’ve been through a lot together,” she corrected.

“That’s true. I hope I’ve been as valuable to you as you have been to me.”

“Of course you have, you silly man. Why else would I still spend all this time with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know - my stunning good looks? My immense wealth? But seriously, I - I’m sure you thought I’d never try to date again, that I was a lost cause.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way. And even if you did decide you were done with it, you would have…every reason to, after what happened to you.” She hesitated.

“But?”

“But…I could sense that you were ready. Even if you may not have been able to sense it yourself. That’s the only reason I’ve been heavily suggesting -”

“Forcing.”

“Okay, forcing you to dip your toes into the social world again. And, may I remind you of how successfully it has been going so far?” Sasha preened.

Martin laughed a little. “Yes, yes, alright, this is all thanks to you.”

“I expect to be your best woman at your wedding.”

“SASHA.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. For now.”

They continued to catch up for awhile over some food. As they were finishing up and putting their coats on, Martin heard Sasha get a text, and she made an “ooooohhh!” exclamation. “Something you’d care to share, Sasha?” he asked suspiciously.

She looked up at him a bit embarrassed, then quickly put her phone away. “Oh, um - nothing! Nevermind.”

Martin stood and considered the situation for a moment, relishing this rare opportunity to make Sasha uncomfortable. “Sasha. Dear. You wouldn’t still be texting with a certain….” He paused for dramatic effect as Sasha looked a bit nervous. “…Tim, would you?”

Sasha couldn’t look away. “Um…maybe?” she said in a high voice. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m just teasing. I’m sure you’ve told him all about me and what to do and everything.”

“Oh, not EVERYTHING. He did ask for some…pointers, things to watch out for, so I helped him out a little. I hope that’s okay.”

Martin groaned and closed his eyes. “You two will be the death of me. It’s fine, I should have known.”

“He just wanted to be really…considerate. It was very sweet. I didn’t tell him much, honestly; he knows that’s for you to do, if you want to.”

Martin looked at her and considered what she was saying. “Alright. Well, I’m sure you'll get the dirt from last night him as well now.”

Sasha stifled a grin. “…Maaaaaybe?”

Martin groaned and muttered, “You two.”

They left the cafe and gave each other a hug, then went their separate ways.

  
———————————

“Jon. You look…good?”

Elsewhere in London, Jon looked up from the armchair he was sitting in by the fireplace of a coffeeshop near his flat. “Don’t sound too surprised,” he said wryly.

Georgie walked over with her steaming mug and took a chair next to him. “Nice spot.”

“Thanks; I like it.”

Georgie sat back and took a good look at him. “Really, though, you look…like…you got some sleep. And are…less in pain. I take it the massage went well?”

Jon briefly smiled, then quickly recovered and cleared his throat. “Ah. Well, after you _forcibly dragged_ me to it, and after Martin kindly asked if I was there of my own free will, yes, it did go rather well.” He sipped his tea. There was a pause. A long pause. He looked up to see Georgie looking at him expectantly. Exasperated, he sighed and said, “Yes, Georgie, what is it now?”

“Oh, just, wondering when you’ll thank me, is all.”

Jon let out one big laugh, attracting attention from other customers. He quickly felt embarrassed. “When I’ll thank you - that’s rich.”

She smirked. “I can wait. Anyway, tell me how it went. Even though I made you go I wasn’t sure you’d actually go through with it.”

“Well, you were wrong.”

“I think those are your favorite words to say, Sims.”

“That is true. Anyway, yes, I stayed the entire time, Martin was lovely, he worked out a lot of the kinks in my back, and he…couldn't have been nicer, really. A real professional. I can see why you like him so much.”

“He is dreamy,” Georgie replied, looking into space briefly before snapping back to reality. “But I think he's gay. Pity. For me, anyway.”

“Oh! He’s - oh.” Jon filed away that important piece of information in the vault of his brain.

Georgie raised an eyebrow. “Yyyessssss, Jon? Something you’d like to share?”

He grimaced. _She is so evil._ “Nothing, nothing. Just. Why do you say that?”

“What, that he's gay? Oh, back when I had my first sessions with him I was so enchanted I may have done a bit of social media stalking.”

Jon groaned.

“What can I say? I mean, everyone falls in love with their massage therapist, if they have one that’s any good, and I, unfortunately, am no exception. He had a lot of his accounts locked down pretty well but I saw an old profile photo on Facebook of him and some older guy. No photos of women or anything.”

“Definitely solid proof.”

Georgie got a little defensive. “Well, okay, AND another profile photo was him with a rainbow flag border.”

Jon’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Again, amazing detective work.”

Georgie frowned. “Fine, fine. Well, I’ve never heard him talk about his dating life. Like, ever. He doesn’t have a wedding ring. And I just…have a feeling.”

“A feeling.”

“Yes, Jon, a _feeling_. I can’t explain it.”

Jon sighs and rubs his temples.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Georgie asks curiously.

Jon was caught by surprise at that question. “Oh. No reason.”

Georgie raised an eyebrow. Jon sighed.

“It’s just. Sometimes I - wonder what people think about me. People who don’t know me. What sort of ‘feeling’ people have when they see me.” He used finger quotes around the word “feeling.” “I’m…not sure myself, to be honest.”

“Oh, I don’t mean anything bad by it, it’s just something people do - they speculate.”

“Would you really have tried to date him if you thought he was into women?”

“Well, let’s say I’d have tried to jokingly ask him out once. In a non-perverted way. Fully clothed, of course.”

Jon nodded. “Of_ course_.”

“So, would _you_ ask him out?”

Jon spat his tea out onto the fireplace. People nearby looked again in his direction with a not minimal sense of concern. He put his tea down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Christ, Georgie.”

“_What_? Just having a bit of fun, with my favorite nerd,” she said with a laugh. “It's so easy to do.”

He could feel his face burning up. "You're so evil, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He blushed a little more at that. Thankfully he didn’t take another sip of tea, because Georgie then said:

“You didn’t answer my question, though.”

Jon quickly leaned in and whispered, “Jesus, Georgie, not so loud!”

“What, it’s not like he’s here in this cafe.” She frowned. “Is he?” She then turned to look around at the customers.

Jon wanted to shrivel into his armchair and die.

Georgie sat back again and gave him a good, long look, one which he withered under. “You _do_ want to ask him out, don’t you? You _like_ him don’t you? My stars, I thought this day would never come.” She sniffed dramatically. “I'm so proud. ‘Tis a pity he's your massage therapist.”

“Georgie, so help me god, if I were to roll my eyes any harder they would shoot out the back of my skull, now stop it.”

“Oh I’m having too much fun, Jon, faaaaar too much fun. I never get to tease you like this.”

Jon groaned again. “I suppose I may deserve this…just a little.”

“Hold on, hold on. Back up. Could you say that again?” She held up her phone and started recording a video.

Jon rolled his eyes and glared at her, but she kept going. “What, you’re serious? Okay fine. Let it be known, that in this year of 2019, Georgie Barker is teasing me. End recording. Georgie, end recording.”

Georgie laughed. “Nah ah.”

Jon sighed. “Georgie is teasing me and…and…I may…have…”

“Go on.”

His voice went to a whisper. “I may have…deserved it?”

“Thank you, Jon, that will do. End recording.” She put her phone down. “Now was that so hard?”

“You basically almost killed me, you know.”

“And I loved every second of it.”

“Well, I’m glad I can entertain you.”

“Drier than the Sahara, you are.”

Jon finished his tea.

Georgie went to go get a scone and came back with another pot of tea to share.

“Thanks.”

Sasha leaned forward and said quietly, “Seriously though, Martin did you good? I know you were worried about it, to put it mildly.”

Jon exhaled, grateful that she'd finally dropped the earlier line of questioning. “I was, yes. Talking to him on Friday and knowing what to expect in advance - that helped a lot. And he didn’t say anything, during it, about -. I thought he might. Everyone does. But he didn’t. I appreciated that. Not to mention he did wonders on my back and neck in a short amount of time. I haven’t felt this good in...well, in a long time.”

Georgie nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

“I also knew that he’d have to be pretty good if you let him anywhere near you, so that helped.”

Georgie chuckled. “That is true. I’m quite picky.”

“As you should be.”

“You think you’ll go back?”

“I do. I made another appointment already. He only did my back - well, I only let him do my back. There’s plenty to work on there, though.”

“And the more often you go, the more you’ll trust him.”

Jon murmured in agreement.

“I know it’s cheesy, but I’m proud of you, Jon. And don't worry, I won’t drag you to an appointment again, I think you can take it from here.”

Jon smiled. “Thanks, Georgie. I think I can handle it. But…thanks for the - nudging, however aggressive.”

Georgie snorted. “Anytime.”

  
—————————————

  
The next day, Martin had an appointment for his own monthly massage with his former teacher, Peter Lukas, who, when he wasn't teaching, gave massages to people in the industry in a spare bedroom at his home. Martin had been coming here since he finished his program and started working full-time, and Peter offered steep discounts to his former students; he felt attached to them and also knew how hard being a massage therapist was. He was a big man with a very strong upper body and could give Martin the high amount of pressure he needed.

Peter lived alone, but Martin had gotten the sense over the years that he needed to be around people all the time; he kept himself very busy. It could be hard getting an appointment with him sometimes, but Peter always managed to find a time to fit him in.

Martin took the Tube across the river to Highgate to where Peter lived, a very affluent area much different from what he was used to. _Must come from money_, he remembered thinking when he first came to Peter’s flat. He rang the button next to Peter’s name at his building, and was quickly let up.

“Martin!” he heard coming from the top of the stairs - Peter’s door was already open and he was looking down at Martin from the staircase with a big smile. “Good to see you.”

“Hi Peter, good to see you, too.”

When he got to the top, Peter gave him a small pat on the back and escorted him in.

“Tea?” Peter pointed at a tray on the coffee table already set with cups and biscuits. Peter liked having tea with his former students before appointments, to catch up.

“Love to.” They sat down and Martin sipped; it was made the way he liked it. He idly wondered if Peter had all of his former students’ tea preferences memorized.

“So how have you been doing, lad?” Peter asked kindly in his resonant voice.

“Oh, good, good. Can’t complain. Work keeps me occupied. How about yourself?”

“You know me - busy busy busy. I have some other appointments today and I have to do some work for my classes next week yet.” Peter peered at Martin between sips. “Have any other plans for the rest of the day?”

Martin scratched his head. “Oh, uh, not really, just, getting some groceries, maybe taking a walk, doing laundry, you know.”

Peter considered this response, then smiled and said, “Sounds relaxing. Shall we get started?”

Martin nodded. “I’ll go get ready.”

He went to the spare room Peter used as a massage studio, and started to undress. The room had the curtains drawn, and warm, dim light was emanating from a pink salt lamp in the corner. He removed all but his pants, and slid under the sheets on the massage table, face down. He heard a knock. “Come in.”

He heard Peter come in and shut the door, then he turned on some calming classical piano music that Martin liked. “What shall I start with today?” Peter asked.

“Neck and shoulders, I think, then back, at some point. My feet could use some attention, also. I’ve worked pretty hard this week.”

“I’m not surprised; you always were very dedicated in class.” Peter warmed some oil in his hands, then started massaging Martin’s neck and upper shoulders.

Martin started to finally relax as Peter's firm touch and the music all came together. “This is really, really nice. Aaaaah!” He cried out as Peter hit a sore spot on his neck. “Right there. Keep going.”

Martin, much like his clients, would also forget about trouble spots on his own body until they were discovered by a professional, and Peter was good at really getting in there and working the knots away.

When he’d first started his training program, Martin had been quite embarrassed about his body - his scars, and how he looked in general - but it had been Peter who’d taught him and the others to respect everyone’s body. “Your body contains many stories. Some of them are obvious, and you can see them right away; others are nearly invisible, and can only be seen if you know where to look. Some people have stories that they don’t even remember, until a word or a touch quickly reminds them,” he’d said one day in the beginning of the term. “Everyone you work on will have their own stories they bring with them, and it’s important to respect them. They don't have to tell you their stories; it’s your job to treat them with dignity, and improve their day to day life through touch. That’s what we'll learn here.”

Later, his classmates worked on each other, which thankfully came after several of Peter’s meditations on bodies and respect; otherwise, he’d have been a bit ashamed and nervous, like he had been while in locker rooms as a young man, although that had more to do with him making realizations about his own sexuality than anything else. None of his massage classmates had remarked on his scars, fortunately, and he saw that many of them had visible scars of their own, something he hadn't really thought about before.

By the end of his program, he’d come to have a much higher regard for his body and all it did for him; human bodies were remarkable things that most people took for granted. He knew at the end of it that he'd entered the right program - he wanted to bring people to the same understanding that he had, thanks to Peter.

Peter had moved on to the rest of Martin’s back and was currently working out some kinks around his middle. “Anything on your mind you want to talk about?” Peter asked.

“Just - thinking about when I first started your class.”

“I remember. To be honest, in those first few months, I wasn’t entirely sure you’d finish, but you surprised me. You're a great massage therapist.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, just - seemed like you were dealing with some serious things internally, like something was holding you back. But you seemed to work through it.” He rubbed a particularly sore spot and caused Martin to yelp.

“Keep going, keep going,” Martin reassured him. He thought a bit about what Peter had said. He hadn't ever completely opened up to Peter before, and Peter had never asked, of course. He was just a very perceptive man, which was helpful in this profession. Martin liked to think he was perceptive, too. “I was dealing with something at the time,” he said slowly. “But, your classes really helped me. I wouldn’t be doing what I do if not for you.”

“You give me too much credit, Martin, but thank you. Turn over, please.” Peter took a step back as Martin flipped onto his back and settled in. Peter turned down the sheets to work on his chest muscles. Even though he’d seen Martin’s scars from his stab wounds dozens of times by now, Peter had never asked about them, and Martin had never felt the need to explain. He remembered being a little concerned at his first massage about what Peter would think; he’d been nowhere near as scared as Jon had been, but the fear came from the same place, he thought. Thinking about what - who - had caused them was very painful, and they were a constant physical reminder that he could never fully get rid of. But Peter had practiced what he’d preached in class and didn’t gawk or ask, and Martin had quickly grown comfortable around him.

“You’re pretty tight around here,” Peter said while working on his right pectoral muscle. Martin grimaced as Peter firmly worked out the knots. “Too much?” Peter asked.

“No, no - keep going.”

Peter finished and moved to his left side, his fingers lightly grazing Martin’s scars that weren’t very visible anymore. Martin tried to stay present in the moment and not think about it, and was largely successful. Peter helped by continuing the conversation.

“Massage was a second career for me, too,” Peter said while working on Martin’s left pectoral muscle. “I had been in I.T., working for a large corporation and making lots of money. I don't mean to brag, but that's just how it was. And I had a nice house and a lot of nice cars. But I realized I was…isolated. I didn’t find much meaning in what I did. And eventually, I thought, you know what? I need to make a radical change.”

“I’m sure your parents weren’t very pleased,” Martin piped in. He knew Peter’s parents were rich, but not much else.

Peter chuckled. “My mother was not happy, at first. Of course, once I knew how to give a good massage, she felt a lot better about the situation.”

“What was that like, massaging your own mum?”

“Oh, it was a little awkward, but not too bad. I did feel I had to prove to her that I had some talent, that I didn’t ‘throw my life away’ for no reason. She was quite convinced within an hour.”

Martin laughed at that.

“Anyway, I found I really liked teaching; I had a great teacher, myself. And after having my own practice for awhile, I took a job teaching at the school, and well, that’s how you got to know me.”

“You don't regret leaving everything?”

“Oh no, not at all. I’m busier than I was before, but I’m much happier. I see so many people, and get them to feel good about themselves. It's very satisfying.”

“Yeah. I really wasn't sure what I wanted to do before…before I got into the program. But I made the right choice. I feel very fulfilled every day. Not many professions can offer that.”

Peter finished on Martin's chest and moved to his feet. Martin groaned as Peter hit some very tender spots straight away.

“It’s important to have a good personal life, too,” Peter said.

Martin groaned again, this time not from Peter’s firm pressure. “My friend Sasha has been telling me that a lot lately.”

Peter continued working on his feet and didn’t say anything; Martin knew he didn’t like to pry.

“I…have met someone. Recently. He’s, um, he’s very nice,” Martin said tentatively.

“That’s wonderful! I’m very happy for you. You deserve it,” Peter said warmly, while attacking Martin’s feet with his thumbs.

“Gah, Peter - how can you smile like that while you do…_that_ to my feet?”

“Just that talented,” Peter replied with a little wink. He covered Martin's feet. “Well, that’s all the time we have today. How do you feel?”

Martin closed his eyes and relished how relaxed and loose he felt. “I feel just…perfect. Thanks, Peter.”

“You're welcome.” He left and closed the door behind him, then Martin put his clothes on and left the room.

He handed Peter some cash for the massage. “Nice to see you, as always,” Peter said, giving Martin a hug.

“Good to see you, too,” he said genuinely. “Same time next month?”

“Definitely. See you then. Have a good time with your…someone,” Peter said with a smile.

Martin blushed. “Oh - I - I will. Thanks, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just imagine that in this universe Peter Lukas is reformed and very nice, okay?  
Also Georgie is definitely a domme. 
> 
> ON THE NEXT EPISODE:
> 
> -Does Jon go through with massage number two?
> 
> -Martin goes on another date with Tim and tries not to screw it up too badly, and hopes the mints that Sasha hid in his coat pocket during their meet-up cover up the garlic breath he is now worried about (thanks, Sasha).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin gets cold feet. 
> 
> Jon goes for his second massage.
> 
> Martin experiences some mega PTSD symptoms, and Jon helps him.
> 
> And, Jon/Martin - please finally make your way to center stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad y'all didn't mind me making Peter Lukas a reformed Peter in the last chapter :D I decided that Martin doesn't need any new traumas to happen to him in this particular story and universe. 
> 
> FYI, there is lots of discussion of PTSD and characters getting triggered in this chapter, though not a ton of details as to the abuse that caused the PTSD. 
> 
> Oh, and someone wondered if the barista could be Mike Crew - here you are <3

It had been a couple of weeks, and Martin and Tim had gone out to eat after work together a couple more times, each time somehow avoiding the “shall I come up?” conversation at the end. The hospital where Tim worked had been particularly understaffed lately, so he had been working more hours, and they hadn’t been able to see each other as often as they each would have liked.

A small but significant part of Martin was relieved at that, though, since it also meant they hadn’t been able to have any serious relationship talks, or spend enough time alone for any further progression in the physical arena. Just thinking about those two things made Martin freeze and gave him heart palpitations. He just didn’t know if he could…he shook his head. Martin knew that sooner or later he’d have to make a decision and talk to Tim about all of that - his hangups, commitment, his past - for his sake as well as Tim’s. Tim deserved a good boyfriend, and Martin didn’t want to be the one holding him back.

Tim had managed to get a day off during the upcoming weekend, and invited Martin over to dinner at his house on Saturday night, which made Martin feel that now-familiar combination of excited and anxious, although currently the anxiety was winning. They’d be alone all night, if they didn’t go out somewhere afterwards. A lot could happen. He knew Tim wasn’t trying to make him nervous; no one ever purposely tried. Well, no one in his life anymore. Martin sighed. Tim was being so patient with him without even knowing why he was…the way he was. _And when he does find out, what will he think of me? This is why I avoided relationships for so many years. Never had to deal with all of this...mess. _ He tried to stop thinking about his past and Elias, but it was too late, and the memories came bubbling up to the surface from deep below, very much against his will.

——————————

Jon woke up on Friday morning feeling…odd. He couldn’t quite explain what was wrong, just that he’d never felt like he did at that moment before. He looked at his phone - it was early, for him; he’d woken up before his alarm went off. And yet, he didn’t feel groggy. That…never happened. Never. He hadn’t woken up with a start, covered in sweat and tangled up in sheets, due to one of his frequent nightmares. He couldn’t even remember his dream, if he’d had one. Another first.

He got out of bed and felt somehow…lighter. Like he had been wearing metal armor or a ball and chain that he’d managed to finally take off. It wasn’t that something was wrong; it was more like - something was right. He felt an absence, where there usually was a presence - of anxiety, of exhaustion, of terror. That’s why he couldn’t pinpoint it at first. It’s difficult to articulate when something isn’t there, something that has been with you all your life; it's like a popcorn husk that’s stuck between your teeth for so long that you get used to it, and when it finally gets dislodged, your mouth feels strange. That’s how he felt right now.

“I feel…good?” he said out loud to himself - well-rested, no lurking anxiety in his stomach, no fragments of bad memories stuck in his psyche. _This must be how most people feel all the time. Imagine. _ He supposed it was entirely a coincidence that today was his second massage with Martin. He tried desperately not to think about the possible connection. _There is no connection. Simple as that. I just…had a good night’s sleep is all. End of. _

Jon used his newly-found contentment to take a shower, eat a decent breakfast, and do a little tidying around the flat. _I feel like a totally different person. Maybe I’ll finally mend all my socks that have holes in them!…Well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Sims. _

His appointment was at 1:00 with Martin, and he made sure to leave with plenty of time to spare so he wouldn’t be late. He also checked in with Georgie, since he knew she’d be wondering. He brought his book on the history of vampires with him, and read it on the tube. He was so early, in fact, that he went to the coffee shop near the massage studio to spend a little time reading while he waited. The same barista was there as before; Jon saw his name tag said Mike.

“Uh, hello, could I please just have a - a cup of tea? Black with a little sugar, for here,” Jon stuttered.

Mike smiled. “Sure. All that coffee too much for you?”

_He remembers me_. Jon cracked a little smile. “Yeah, yeah you could say that. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” He slid a cup and saucer with perfectly brewed black tea and some sugar cubes across the counter. “Good to see you again.”

Jon stopped himself from blushing, but only just. “Uh, thank - thank you.” He hurriedly took the cup and saucer and walked to the counter and stools facing the street, sitting down to sip and read his book until it was time to leave.

Half an hour later, he got up and brought his cup and saucer to the bin next to the counter. “Oh, you're sweet, I would have done that,” he heard Mike call to him.

“You - you’re welcome.”

“Hope to see you again soon,” Mike said kindly. Jon just smiled. _Everything’s coming up Milhou - I mean Jonathan. About time. _

Jon walked over to the massage studio and checked in with Helen, then used the restroom. By that time, Martin had come to the waiting room, and was chatting with Helen when Jon came out.

“Ah, Jon - good to see you again!” Martin gave him a big smile, like a ray of sunshine. That felt nice. “Come on back.”

They walked again down the dimly lit hallway to the room he’d been in before; Martin closed the door. “How have you been feeling since our first session? Is there anything in particular you’d like me to work on today?”

Jon answered honestly, not feeling nervous at all. He was surprised at how quickly Martin had managed to make him feel comfortable and able to open up. “I feel - I feel better than I have in ages, Martin. I mean, I know it’s only been one session, but…I feel much better.”

“I”m very glad to hear that, Jon.”

“I think we could just do what you did last time? Just upper body, I think.”

“Okay. And, any areas I should avoid today?”

Jon thought about it. He knew what Martin would find on his chest, but decided - today, he would just let it happen. “N - no.”

Martin waited a moment, as if to see if Jon would retract his answer, but he didn’t. “Perfect. We’ll start you out face down, then; I’ll be back in a moment.”

He left, and Jon quickly removed his shoes, socks, and shirt, then went under the covers of the massage table, resting his face on top of the head cradle. The heating pad was already turned on, and it felt amazing.

He heard a soft knock, and said, “Come in.” He heard Martin enter and close the door, then saw the light dim even further.

“Can I put a hot towel on your back?” Martin asked.

“Yes, please.”

Jon felt Martin lower the covers down to his waist, then felt warmth emanating from a cloth that soon replaced the sheets. It felt amazing. And this time he didn't feel Martin hesitate at Jon’s ring-like scars covering his back.

“This will help loosen up your muscles a bit,” Martin explained. “I’m going to work on your neck and shoulders for a bit to let the cloth do its job.”

He felt Martin sit down near his head again, and start to massage the back of his neck and upper shoulders. The warmth and strength of his hands were very comforting. He could tell he still had a lot of knots in his neck, but this time Martin could touch them without Jon flinching - as much. He heard Martin remark, “Much less tense than last time,” as if to confirm what Jon was thinking.

Jon focused on taking deep breaths as Martin massaged his shoulders, then removed the warm cloth and started working on his upper back. He felt himself start to melt into the massage table, even as Martin’s fingers worked their way into the web of knots running across Jon’s shoulder blades. He felt Martin’s oiled palms press down and around the tense muscles, steadily working the tension away. He felt almost sedated when Martin eventually said, “Alright, Jon, would you turn onto your back, please?” He felt Martin pull the sheets over his back for modesty.

He didn’t get a flood of anxiety at this request like he’d expected, just a small trickle. He was on slight alert - an improvement over high alert, and entirely due to how safe Martin had made him feel. “Yes,” he said, as he flipped over under the covers and wriggled down the table so his head was off the cradle.

He thought it would be awkward if he kept his eyes open, since he’d probably just end up staring at Martin and make him uncomfortable, so he closed his eyes, and felt Martin adjust the alignment pillow underneath his knees.

“Alright, Jon, I’m just going to work a bit on your jaw and your face, and then your upper chest muscles. Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” he said softly.

Jon felt Martin’s fingers touch his jaw and start to massage the joint and surrounding muscles, which felt incredible - he'd forgotten how much tension he held in his jaw. Martin moved on to the rest of Jon’s face, focusing especially on his temples, and did a brief scalp massage. All the nerve endings on his scalp reacting to Martin’s touch surprised him.

“Now I’ll move on to your chest.”

Jon held his breath and stiffened a little as he felt Martin fold down the sheets to uncover his entire torso. The scars on his back weren’t the only ones he had, and he wasn’t sure how Martin would react to seeing all of them, though he was sure Martin would continue to be as understanding and respectful as he had been.

He heard Martin warm up some oil in his hands, and felt him hesitantly touch his upper chest. Jon swallowed. “Alright?” Martin asked him quietly, as his fingers stopped moving.

"Ye- yes. Just - just haven’t - I don’t usually - people don’t usually see this…part of me,” he stuttered awkwardly as he kept his eyes closed. _Dammit_, he chided himself.

Martin was reassuring, as ever. “It’s alright, Jon. I’m here to massage you, not judge you.” He paused, as if considering how much to say. Jon hoped he’d be forthcoming. “Our bodies…tell stories, sometimes without our permission. You never need to tell me more than you want to.”

Jon opened his eyes to see Martin looking at him, concerned and kind. “O- okay, Martin,” he said softly. “Thanks.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll stop and do something else, okay?”

“Okay. You can - you can keep going for now.”

Martin nodded, and Jon watched him start to massage the area around his collarbone. It was really quite sore - another place he didn’t realize he stored tension. Jon flinched as Martin found a particularly angry knot. “Too much hunching, Jon,” Martin tutted.

“I know,” Jon said. “It’s hard to avoid, in my line of work.”

Jon held his breath as Martin’s hands drifted lower towards his right pectoral muscle. Jon couldn’t help it and made himself watch Martin’s face as his fingers discovered the angry, jagged lines scarring Jon’s lower right pec. He felt Martin’s fingers instantly stop as they touched the scar tissue, and he watched, with curiosity more than anything else, as multiple emotions crossed Martin’s face in a flash - he thought he detected shock, then fear, and finally anger. Not a reaction he’d gotten before, if he was being honest. He didn't know quite how to react, himself.

He let Martin stare at his scars for a few moments, and Martin did just that - he stared, without moving, frozen in place. It looked like he was somewhere far away, as though Jon’s scars had triggered something inside him, something huge.

Jon swallowed. “M- Martin?” he whispered. No reaction. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, then felt Martin hesitantly start to move again, gently tracing the scarred lines that littered Jon’s right side. “Are - are you alright, Martin?”

He felt something small and wet splash on his chest, and opened his eyes again. Martin was crying - just standing there, touching Jon’s scars, and crying noiselessly, clearly trapped in a memory he didn’t want to experience. Jon instantly softened. He didn’t know what Martin was thinking about, but he could guess. _Maybe that’s why he’s so big on consent, and talks about scars so much. He knows from experience._

Jon reached over with his left hand and gently covered Martin’s with his own, stopping Martin from tracing his scars, which snapped Martin out of his regression. Martin gasped and his eyes went wide as he made eye contact with Jon for the first time and realized what he had done. He immediately pulled his hand away from Jon’s as though he were being burned. “Jon. Jon. I’m - I’m so sorry, Jon, I don’t - I don’t know what happened. I’m so, so sorry.” He fled to the other side of the room to get a tissue. Jon felt his hand’s absence at once and missed it.

Martin blew his nose, and didn’t turn around to face Jon. _He must be mortified,_ Jon thought. He really wanted to give Martin a hug. Instead, he got up and walked over to him, lightly touching his shoulder, which made Martin shudder; he clearly didn’t want to be touched. Jon immediately dropped his arm. “Martin. Martin, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay. Please, look at me.”

Martin sniffed, blew his nose again, and slowly turned around, eyes cast downwards. Jon watched as Martin slowly looked up from the floor until he reached Jon’s eyes. Jon could see he was still crying. “Can I hold your hand?” he asked quietly. He thought it would help Martin come back to reality, if he experienced someone else's touch. Martin nodded, and Jon clasped their hands together. “I mean it, what I said. Please don’t apologize, Martin.”

He could see Martin try to smile, but he let out a small sob in the process. _Jesus, what happened to him?_

“I think you had a flashback, Martin,” Jon said slowly. He decided then to disclose, thinking it would help. “I’ve…had those myself. I understand. I really do.”

“I really don’t know what happened, one minute I was here, the next I was - I was -“ Martin said quickly and apologetically, unable to continue his thought. Jon squeezed his hand, and just let him think. Getting reacclimated to the real world after a flashback could take some time.

“You’re not there anymore,” Jon said. He tried to help Martin out of it, doing what he would do himself in times like this. “You’re in London, in Camden Massage. It’s 2019, and you are a massage therapist, a very talented one, I have to say,” Jon said, smiling towards the end. “You’re safe here.”

Martin squeezed his hand in return. “I am safe here,” he repeated as he looked at Jon.

“Take some deep breaths,” Jon instructed. They took several deep breaths together, and after a minute, Jon could sense Martin coming back to earth.

“Jon, there’s - I need to show you something.”

Jon shook his head. “You don’t need to, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I want to. Please.”

“Okay, if you’re really sure.”

“I know this is highly irregular, but - “ then Martin laughed. “Well, this is all a bit irregular, isn’t it?”

Jon laughed, too.

Martin started to untuck his Camden Massage polo shirt from his trousers, and Jon thought, _ Well, this isn’t how I thought this would happen._ He stayed in place, waiting.

Martin pulled his shirt over his head, and then shyly removed his undershirt; Jon thought it was cute. _Maybe I’ll see him in that again sometime - good God, what has gotten into me? This is most certainly NOT THE TIME, JONATHAN._

Martin clutched his shirts in front of him, as though he were embarrassed about himself. _He really shouldn’t be,_ Jon thought, trying not to stare too much at his belly and his red chest hair. Jon really did not know where this horny version of himself was coming from. _Again, this is MOST DEFINITELY NOT THE TIME YOU BASTARD,_ he reminded himself.

“Um,” Martin stuttered. “S- see.” He pointed to his own chest, and Jon stepped closer to look, as the light was rather dim. He felt shock as he saw several lines scarred into Martin’s upper torso on his right side as well, not new, but plainly visible. They weren’t quite like his own, not identical, but just as violent.

The blood drained from his face as he realized what Martin was showing him. "Martin. Not - not you, too,” he said without thinking as he looked into Martin’s eyes.

Martin swallowed. He’d stopped crying, but Jon could see his eyes were still red and puffy. “Y- yes. Me, too.”

There was nothing Jon wanted to do more at that moment than wrap Martin up in his arms and never let go, but he managed to resist. He settled for squeezing Martin’s hands in his, and feeling his own eyes fill with tears as they stood there, quietly acknowledging each other’s pain.

Jon eventually spoke up. “We should - maybe we could talk about it, sometime. I mean, outside of - this. If you want.”

Jon could see Martin thinking about it, and he quickly said, “I know there’s supposed to be boundaries, professional - all of that. But this is -“

“Highly irregular,” Martin interrupted, with a shy half-smile. “I’d like that, Jon.”

Jon squeezed Martin’s hands in response.

Martin glanced up at the clock. “Oh shi- sorry, I mean - Jon, we’re out of time.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Martin, are you sure you can keep working? Do you need to cancel the rest of your appointments today?”

“I - don’t - know?” Martin said slowly, looking very unsure of himself.

Jon made a decision, and took charge. He knew what Martin must be feeling right now, and tried to do what he’d want someone to do for him. What Georgie had done for him several times before. “Okay, Martin. I think - I think you need to go home. I think I need to take you home. Alright? Helen can reschedule your clients.”

Martin just stood there, dazed, as he absorbed what Jon said.

“I - I’ll go tell Helen, alright? Then we can get your things, and I’ll get you home. Okay Martin? I’ll be right back.” He waited for Martin to nod, then put his clothes and shoes on before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

He got to the reception desk and saw someone waiting who was probably Martin’s next client. “Helen, can I - I need to talk to you in private for a moment, please.”

“Of course.” Helen looked very confused to see Jon without Martin, but went with him into a small room behind the reception desk.

Jon whispered, “Martin isn’t feeling well, and needs to go home. Right away. He - he can’t see his remaining clients today.”

“Oh no, that’s awful! What happened? Do you need a refund on your massage?”

“No, no, not at all.” Jon decided to lie, just a little bit. “I - he just, he - well, he fainted, during our appointment. He’s quite shaky."

Helen looked very concerned. “Oh my God, does he need an ambulance?”

“No, no, that - he doesn’t need that. I think we just need to get him home and to bed. Would you be able to reschedule the rest of his appointments?”

“Yes, of course. We have someone on-call so I can see if they would like to see her instead of Martin, or I’ll reschedule, of course.”

“Thank you, I know Martin will appreciate it. I’ll - I’ll get Martin home.”

Helen squeezed Jon’s arm. “We must take care of our Martin, he is irreplaceable,” she said reverently. Luckily for him, she didn't think it was odd that Jon, a client who had only seen Martin twice before, was escorting him home. _Maybe she's too shocked to care._

“He is," Jon agreed.

He went back and left Helen to break the bad news to Martin’s next client; Martin had put his shirt back on but was still standing in the room much as Jon had left him, looking a bit shell shocked. He quickly looked up at Jon when he started talking. “Martin? Helen’s taking care of it. It’s okay. I’ll take you home. Where are your things?”

Martin wordlessly opened the door and walked down the hallway toward the back; Jon rushed to get his coat and bag and followed him. He saw Martin go into what must be an employee break area with lockers, and mechanically put on his coat and retrieve his bag from his locker.

“Can - can you tell me where you live?”

“Stockwell,” Martin replied quietly, almost robotically.

“Stockwell. Okay.”

He lead Martin to the front. The client was gone, and Helen was on the phone, but she pointed outside at a black cab that was waiting. “On the house,” she whispered to Jon. “I gave the driver his home address.”

"That was quick. Thank you, Helen,” Jon said, and Helen just smiled.

“Treat him well,” she whispered as Jon escorted Martin out of the building. He heard her say, “Hello, this is Helen from Camden Massage, unfortunately I have some bad news…” as the door closed.

He opened the cab door and let Martin climb in, then he got in next to him. Since Helen had given the driver Martin’s address already, Jon didn’t say anything, and the driver started driving wordlessly once Jon closed the car door, which was fine with him.

As they drove to Martin’s flat, Jon studied him: he was staring out the window, but not appearing to actually see anything that was going by. Jon knew what that was like; he took Martin’s hand and lightly squeezed it. Martin didn’t move his head, but he did squeeze back. _That will do for now._

They sat like that until they reached Martin’s building; since Helen had already paid for it, Jon thanked the driver and gave him a cash tip, then helped Martin out of the cab. Martin was able to unlock the front door of his building and go upstairs to his flat on autopilot, not saying anything as Jon followed him.

They stopped at what he assumed was Martin’s place - Martin took out his keys and opened the door, and Jon didn’t think twice about following him inside. He was still in “take charge” mode. “Martin, you should - sit down, on the couch. I’ll make you some tea.” Martin didn’t protest, and sat down on the couch in the living room.

Jon took off his shoes, and went to where he correctly thought the kitchen would be. He turned Martin’s electric kettle on, and opened some cabinets looking for tea, mugs, and some sugar. He prepared two mugs, and assumed Martin liked sugar in his tea and a bit of milk; there was some milk in the refrigerator, and he helped himself to it.

After letting the tea steep, he walked back in the living room with two steaming mugs and set them down on the coffee table, then sat on the couch next to Martin, giving him plenty of personal space. He handed Martin a mug. “Tea?”

“Who can say no to tea?” Martin asked wryly as he took it; it was the first thing he’d said in awhile. Jon smiled.

“Certainly no one I know.”

They sipped their tea in silence, and Jon looked around Martin’s flat for the first time. It was very homey - there was a soft knit blanket folded up and hanging on the couch behind them, some decorative throw pillows, and a few pieces of cross-stitch hanging on the walls. There were candles sitting on many of the surfaces, and Martin had a fireplace, though Jon couldn’t tell the last time it had been used. Martin’s living room had a view that faced the street, and with the curtains open, there was a good amount of natural light.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Martin murmured. Jon quickly looked over and saw Martin was looking down at his lap.

Jon didn’t want him to feel embarrassed; he knew what it was like to go through a flashback in front of someone you may not have wanted to. You can’t exactly control when you’ll be triggered by something. But he also knew that there was probably nothing he could say to make Martin’s shame go away completely. He just wanted to be there for him.

“I - I wanted to. I wanted to make sure you got home safely. It’s the least I could do. And, anyway, tea always helps me when I have a flashback.”

Martin sipped his tea. “It’s good.”

Jon felt pleased with himself.

“I usually only invite clients to my flat after the third session,” Martin said dryly.

“Are you…making a joke right now?”

“…Yes, Jon.”

Martin definitely seemed to be perking up. Jon laughed.

“Sorry, Jon, I was - I cope in different ways.”

“No, no - it’s, it’s fine. Of course. I know you don’t…take all of your clients to bed with you. Georgie would have gloated to me if you did.”

That made Martin laugh. “Oh, Georgie.” He didn’t elaborate. Georgie’s secrets were evidently safe with him. Martin sighed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation. I know you don’t think so, but I do.”

Jon immediately stopped the protest he was about to utter. “Only if you want to, Martin. I mean, I can take a guess, like you probably can with mine.”

Martin quickly turned to him with scared eyes. “I just need to know,” he said quietly, “who - who was it? Was it - was his name El - El -“ he struggled to finish saying the name.

Jon stopped him, and said quietly, “His name was Michael. A long time ago.” He could sense a bit of relief flooding Martin’s body at the news that their attackers weren’t the same. Then a realization set in.

“Christ, how many maniacs who go around stabbing men are there in this city?”

Jon shook his head. “Too many, evidently.”

Martin drained his tea and started talking, looking out the window. “I - I see a lot of scars on people, in my job, right? Usually, it’s fine. Nice, in fact. But I’ve never - ever - seen one that reminded me so much of my own than yours did. When I first saw it today, I - I was back there, with him.” Jon could see Martin start breathing more shallowly, recounting his experience, and he reached out to touch Martin’s arm. “I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t get out. My arms were tied behind my back, and I could see the knife he was hiding in the mirror behind him and I-“

“Martin, stop. Come back. You’re not there anymore. You’re here. Martin, you’re here, okay?” Jon took Martin’s cup away and put it on the coffee table, then clasped his hands in his own. “Look at me.”

Martin turned and looked at him. He looked so scared. “I get the idea. You don’t need to tell me anymore about it right now, I don’t think it would help. I think…we need to get your mind off of this. Watch a movie, or play a game, or something.”

Martin nodded.

“I - I’d be happy to stay if you’d like. But I know you barely know me. Is there someone I can contact who you’d like to come over?”

“Sasha,” Martin said immediately. “But - could you - would you mind staying? Just for awhile? I’ll...think about the professional implications later.”

Jon smiled, and his heart fluttered. “Of - of course, I’d love to - to stay. As long as you'll have me. Where’s your phone?”

Martin handed Jon his phone; Jon found Sasha in his messages and sent her one.

_This is Jon, a friend of Martin’s. _

_Martin has suffered a flashback and _

_asked for you. _

_Could you come over to his flat_

_and spend some time with him?_

The response was immediate.

_Oh no, is he okay? _

_Of course I’ll come over. _

_Should I leave work, or can I come _

_over later? I can bring his favorite _

_movies and some take-out._

Jon read her text to Martin, and he said, “She can come over later, it’s fine. Can - can you stay with me until then? I can't - I shouldn't be alone.”

Jon melted a little as he felt Martin squeeze his forearm. “Of - of course, Martin. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

He responded to Sasha and confirmed the details. She’d come over after work piled with Martin’s favorite things.

In the meantime, Jon thought Martin could use a nap. “Are you tired? A nap might be nice. Or, is there something you do when - when these…episodes happen? I have my own things I do -“

“Actually,” Martin said slowly. “Actually, I - well, this is embarrassing, but you know everything else, might as well know that when I get like this, I…like to just lay on my bed and…”

Jon held his breath.

“Listen to Enya on my old stereo.” Martin cringed. “It’s so embarrassing. My mum got me into it.”

That was not at all what he had been expecting Martin to say. Jon almost laughed, but was able to control himself. He quickly blurted out, “Oh! Um, Enya, yes. She’s - she’s very relaxing, very, um, Irish.”

Martin looked at him quizzically then smiled. “Yes very…Irish. Anyway, that - strange as it is, that’s what I want right now. Could you - would you mind just…sitting with me?”

“Of course not.”

They walked to Martin’s bedroom, which was as homey-looking as his living room - he had a soothing muted blue color scheme going on, between his duvet, the paint on the walls, and the photographs of flowers everywhere. Jon felt more calm as soon as he stepped into it. Martin went to a CD player and put in an Enya album, then flopped face-up onto his bed, legs and arms spread out.

Jon felt awkward standing by the doorway, but there wasn’t a chair in his bedroom, and he didn’t want to just…lie on Martin’s bed with him. That would be far too forward of him, and probably not appreciated right now. He imagined Martin didn’t want to be touched very much right now, anyway. “Um, should I - I can get a chair from the living room.”

“Oh - sorry, Jon. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

Jon grabbed the easy chair from Martin’s front room and was grateful it wasn’t too heavy as he carefully dragged it into the bedroom. He positioned the chair next to Martin’s bed so he could rest his feet on the mattress. Martin already had his eyes closed and was letting Enya do her magic.

If someone had told Jon when he woke up this morning that he’d end up in Martin’s bedroom listening to Enya by the day’s end, he’d have called them absolutely bonkers, but soon enough he found himself closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him. He had honestly never listened to an Enya song all the way through before, but it wasn’t bad, not that he would ever admit that to anyone else, especially one Georgie Barker.

He hadn’t had time throughout this experience to think about his own trauma, as he had been too focused on Martin, but he knew it was there, just below the surface. Maybe he could talk to Martin about it sometime, without having a flashback in front of him first. Georgie didn’t need to his only confidante.

Jon sat like that for a little while and felt quite relaxed. He opened his eyes and looked at Martin, who appeared to be fast asleep. He was grateful that Martin felt safe enough to do that around him, despite not really knowing him. He would try his hardest not to break that trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next episode:
> 
> -Martin's POV of Jon's second massage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin wakes up from his nap and wonders why he's listening to Enya.
> 
> Sasha comes over and entertains Martin and Jon at Martin's flat.
> 
> Sasha and Martin have a heart to heart chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your ongoing support and comments, they truly keep me going <3
> 
> FYI this chapter has a brief description of past physical abuse by an intimate partner.

Martin woke up, and was confused. He was still in his work clothes, having clearly collapsed on top of his bed, and weak sunset light was coming in through his bedroom window. Why wasn’t he at work? He heard Enya coming out of the old stereo across from his bed and frowned. He only played that in an emergen- _Oh SHIT_. 

He quickly looked over to his right in a panic - there was a chair next to his bed, but no one was sitting in it. He strained to hear if anyone was in his flat making noise. He could hear someone putting mugs in the kitchen sink, then walking across the squeaky wooden floor to the living room, then the noise stopped._ Jon. He’s still here. _

Martin rubbed his face with his hands and felt shame flood his body as he remembered how he got here. He vaguely remembered being in a car from work to his place, remembered sitting on his couch, Jon giving him tea. _Jon knows about the Enya. NO ONE knows about the Enya. Well, no one except for Sasha._

He tried to think back further. He remembered waking up, going to work, having a few appointments, having lunch, then - Jon’s appointment. His second; he remembered working on Jon’s neck, his back, him flipping over, and then - 

Martin found himself touching his own chest, fingering the scarred tissue underneath his thin work shirt. He must have completely blacked out back there. That hadn’t happened to him in…a very, very long time. God, what had he done? How had he reacted? He had no memory whatsoever. And it had happened at work, with a _client_. He felt mortified. And then the client, Jon, had _taken him home_. That was definitely not good. Not good at all. 

He pressed his hands into his face and moaned, hoping to transport himself somewhere else, hoping to make himself wake up from this living nightmare. It didn’t work. 

Suddenly he remembered Jon. Jon’s chest. Jon’s scar. He was back in his massage room, standing over him, grazing his fingertips over his chest, having just reassured him that everything was okay, when…Martin groaned again. But he couldn’t have helped it. The scar, Jon’s scar - it looked so much like his own, unlike any he’d ever seen before, except on himself. He’d had so much practice in maintaining a professional exterior, he never thought - he hadn’t prepared for this. How could he have? 

He remembered the onslaught of total fear that took over his body the moment he saw the jagged lines on Jon’s chest, the fear that took him back, the fear that had been implanted into him by Him. The one. The one who. 

When he’d touched it, there was no conscious decision, no choice he’d been able to make - Martin had instantly been taken against his will back in time to His house. He could feel the cold tile kitchen floor on his hands as he tried to crawl away, could see the smile on His face as He walked slowly towards him saying calmly, “There’s nowhere to go, Martin. And there’s no one coming to save you. No one even knows you’re here.” Could hear the soft sound of a knife being pulled out of the cotton fabric of a back trouser pocket. Could see the glint of metal as the knife was held over His head and into the garish overhead light of the kitchen, about to be plunged down. 

Could feel his heart stop as everything went to black.

And then.

He could feel the warmth of hands, someone else’s hands, on his own, gentle and hesitant at first but not pulling away. He could hear Enya’s voice again, softly coming through the speakers. He could feel tears start to force their way out of his eyelids despite all his attempts to keep them firmly inside. And he could feel the hands gently remove his own from his face and wipe the tears away. 

“Jon?” he whispered, too frightened to look.

He felt the person’s breath on his face as he answered softly and close, “It’s me, Martin.” 

“Jon,” he whimpered, and he felt his face crumple completely and hot, heavy tears flood down his cheeks. He instantly went into a fetal position, and felt the mattress lower as Jon sat next to him, then felt Jon begin to gently stroke his hair. 

They sat like that until Martin’s sobs subsided. He felt Jon press a tissue into his hands, which he used to wipe off his face, then he hesitantly opened his eyes. Jon was sitting next to him on the bed, and was looking down at him, forehead wrinkled with concern and eyes full of sadness. 

He didn’t know what to say. There was just too much. “Jon, I’m - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -“

Jon cut him off and said softly but firmly, “Stop apologizing, Martin. I promise - I don’t think any less of you as a person, as a professional. I know you don’t believe me now, but just - try.” He kept stroking Martin’s hair. It felt nice. 

“N- no one’s ever - I haven’t bla-“ He stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to start again. “It’s just, I haven’t blacked out in a really long time. I thought I - I didn’t think it would happen again, especially not at work.” He looked away. “I know you know what it’s like. I don’t mean to make this all about me.”

“I do know. I - I’d hope that if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same for me. That’s all.”

Martin looked at Jon and said immediately, “I would. I would do the same for you, Jon. I’m - I’m really lucky that it happened around you. You knew exactly what to do.”

He thought he saw some redness poke through Jon’s cheeks; Jon looked slightly bashful and looked away. “Well, I just - I only did what I do for myself, when this happens. Something just - came over me, I suppose. You needed help.”

Martin clasped the hand that wasn’t stroking his hair. “You were perfect. Thank you for taking care of me.” 

They smiled at each other.

Martin sat up and wiped away the remaining tears on his face. “Well, I suppose I should turn the Enya off. It’s probably been on repeat for awhile. What time is it anyway?”

“5:00. Sasha should be here in a little while.” 

“Christ, I slept for a long time, didn’t I?”

“Flashbacks like that, that deep, are exhausting. I…often sleep quite a bit after these things happen to me. You just went through a lot.”

“I suppose I did.” He thought for awhile. “Jon, I - you don’t really know me, but - you took care of me anyway. And that - that means a great deal. Thank you.” He gave Jon’s hand a squeeze.

Jon looked down. “Oh, you’re welcome. I mean - I do feel a bit guilty for being responsible for all this; it’s my fault. If I’d stayed on my front….”

Martin instantly felt terrible. Of course Jon felt bad. Martin knew Jon’s eyes had been open when he’d first felt…he knew Jon had seen everything written on Martin’s face as he’d comprehended what he’d seen. It was everything he didn’t want to do in his job, everything he’d worked so hard to avoid. 

Martin said insistently, “Jon, no. It’s not your fault. At all. I’m…sorry you had to see that. I - it means a lot to me that you trusted me to see - the parts of you you don’t share with anyone else, and I’m very upset I couldn’t maintain that trust. I’m really sorry, Jon. And I'll stop apologizing now, but I - I hope you can learn to trust me again. Please, please don't feel guilty.”

Jon looked up at him and gave him a small smile. It was a start. “Thanks, Martin. I - I know you didn't mean to.”

“Maybe sometime, if you still want to, I could hear about your experience; I'd love to try to return the favor, if I can.”

“I’d like that.” 

Jon brought the chair back into the living room and Martin followed closely behind, deciding to make more tea. He noticed the blanket spread out on the couch and Jon’s book laying on the armrest; he must have camped out here after Martin fell asleep. He prepared two cups of tea, then carried them into the living room where he saw Jon folding up the blanket and putting his things away in his bag. They each started talking at the same time.

“You don’t have to go-“

“I should probably go.”

They each smiled bashfully. Martin said, “Really, you don’t have to go on my account. Thank you for staying with me, I - I owe you one. I’d really like it if you stayed, but I understand if you want to leave. You didn’t sign up for this. I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do besides babysit me.”

“It’s not babysitting,” Jon said insistently. He put his bag down. “I - I don’t want to impose on you, but if you - if you’re sure, I- I’d love to stay.”

Martin smiled. “Perfect. This tea has your name on it. I mean, not literally, it’s not like I have a mug that says ‘Jon’ on it.” Jon smiled as Martin rambled. “Anyway, uh…want to watch a nature documentary until Sasha comes?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Sure. You like…nature documentaries?”

Martin felt a little bashful under Jon’s gaze. “I just - think they’re relaxing. Except the hunting scenes, obviously. Mainly I like David Attenborough’s voice. He’s one of my coping mechanisms, to be honest.”

Jon nodded. “He has a very good voice.”

They sat down on the couch, clutching their mugs, and Martin picked an episode of Planet Earth to watch while they waited. It would be nice to get his mind off of…everything for a little while. 

—————————

They fell into a comfortable silence as they watched Sir David talk about flamingos and other birds, and Martin felt himself begin to come back together again. He’d felt so exposed, so raw, in front of this person, Jon, who he didn’t really know (and yet also felt like he knew deeply), and who’d seen him go through something so intensely personal; he’d felt a bit like a cat whose fur had been petted the wrong way. But the Enya and the tea and the Attenborough (and Jon) were all helping him feel more like himself. He knew Sasha would bring up the rear and really get him back to 100%. She always did, in times like this.

Sasha arrived a little after 6:30; after buzzing her up, Martin opened his front door and she soon came bursting through carrying bags filled with goodies. “Martin! Sorry I’m late, but I brought food! And movies! And puzzles!” Jon rushed over and he and Martin both took bags from her and set them down. “You must be Jon,” she said, giving him the once-over. “Come here,” she said seriously, without waiting for an answer as she pulled him into a hug.

“H- hi, Sasha,” he said awkwardly as he loosely patted her on the back.

She looked at him, and said solemnly, “That’s for protecting Martin. Thank you, Jon.”

Martin saw Jon blush again. “Oh, you - you’re welcome, it was - it was my pleasure.” 

Sasha quickly moved over to the man himself, and gave him a huge hug, which Martin happily returned. They clutched each other for several seconds. “Are you okay?” Sasha whispered into his ear.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Martin whispered back. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Sasha pulled back and had tears in her eyes. “Me too.”

“Right,” Sasha said as she pulled away. “I got Thai food for us all, and I brought some of Martin’s favorite Tom Hanks movies. And, I have a jigsaw puzzle that I thought would be fun.”

“We can use the coffee table.” He cleared everything off of it for the puzzle. “Let’s get this food into the kitchen before it gets too cold.”

Martin put all the food on the counter and got bowls and utensils for everyone. “Dibs on the red curry,” he said. 

Sasha kissed him on the cheek. “I got that one just for you. Jon, I hope you like green curry. I also got spring rolls to share.”

“I love green curry, thank you, Sasha,” Jon said as he helped himself. 

They ate their food at Martin’s small kitchen table as Martin and Jon asked Sasha about what was going on in her life; hearing her talk about her mundane office problems was relaxing, honestly, and helped Martin get out of his own head.

They cleaned up and went to the living room, and Sasha got her bag of DVDs. “Alright, Martin, do you feel like Sleepless in Seattle tonight, or maybe Joe Versus the Volcano? What about A League of Their Own?”

Martin looked over at Jon, who was silent but again raised a slight eyebrow in his direction; he felt a little bit embarrassed at how much he liked Tom Hanks movies, but, well, they were another of his coping mechanisms. “Um, Jon, do you have any that you, um…don’t hate?”

Martin could see him stifle a laugh. “Um…you should…just…watch whatever you like. Honestly.”

“Alright, then - League of Their Own, please.” 

“Excellent choice,” Sasha said, and put the DVD in his DVD player, then sat next to him on the left side of the couch. Jon was on the other side, and he was in the middle. He could probably recite the lines to this movie by heart, but he never tired of it, especially Rosie O’Donnell and Madonna’s quips. He’d watched it endlessly as a kid, and it was as comforting as a baby blanket.

Martin got the blanket hanging behind him on the couch and spread it over all of their laps, then quickly felt Sasha take his hand in hers above the blanket. His right hand was under the blanket, resting against his thigh, and after awhile, he could feel Jon’s left hand slowly creep towards his, as if asking permission. While still looking at the TV, Martin reached over and took Jon’s hand in his, and gently caressed it with his thumb, off and on, until the movie was over. 

———————————  
“We’ll have to do the jigsaw puzzle another time,” Martin said as he helped Sasha put everything she brought away, after the movie ended. “Do you want to take any of the leftover food home?”

“No, you keep it; I need to make sure you’re eating, after all,” Sasha replied, folding the blanket. 

Jon helped him put the food away and wash the dishes, which didn’t take long between the two of them. They didn’t talk, but it wasn’t awkward, just comfortable, normal.

“I’ll actually leave these DVDs and the puzzle here, just - in case,” Sasha called out. “I’ll come over again soon and we can get a good start on it.” 

“I’d like that,” Martin replied as he put the last clean dish in the dish rack.

He and Jon stepped back into the living room, where Sasha was sitting on the couch, checking her phone. “Sasha, do you want some tea?” 

She looked up. “Oh, no thank you. Are you alright? Do you want me to stay the night? I brought my overnight bag, as well. Didn’t think you’d want to be alone.”

“I - well, actually, would you mind?” Martin asked quietly. He felt a bit embarrassed.

“Of course not! I’d be happy to. Your couch is quite comfortable, actually. I know where the sheets are.” She left to go to Martin’s linen closet. 

Martin turned to Jon. “Um, thank you, again, for - for everything. For staying. I’m sure you had better things to do on your Saturday. You really - you - I’m just, well, I’m really glad you were here.”

Jon got a little pink again and looked down awkwardly. He did enjoy making Jon do that. “Oh, you’re - you’re welcome, it’s no, no trouble at all. My, uh, my pleasure, Martin. You’re in good hands now, with Sasha.”

“I was in good hands with you, too,” Martin said softly as he caught Jon’s eye. “I feel almost as good as new.”

“Uh, uh - well, uh, thank - thank you, I’m, I’m really glad,” Jon stuttered. It was rather cute. Even though he didn’t really know him, Martin was becoming quite fond of this awkward man who somehow knew exactly what to do in a mental health crisis, and tolerated all of the things he liked. Especially the Enya.

“Maybe we can see each other again under somewhat, uh, better circumstances,” Martin said. “Outside of Camden Massage, I mean. If you want to.”

“I’d, uh, I’d really like that,” Jon said shyly. “Uh, shall I - do you want my number?” Jon blushed. “I mean, you can - you can probably look it up at work….”

Martin felt himself blushing a little as he said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, “I’d love your number.” He gave it to him, and Jon sent him a text. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll text you tomorrow, see how you’re doing,” Jon said as he saved Martin to his contacts list.

“Sounds good. Thank you, Jon.” They stood close together, looking into each other’s eyes for a few moments, Martin unsure how to say goodbye to this man who had utterly surprised and delighted him, and honestly, had saved him. He felt somehow awkward in this moment, even though earlier Jon had seen him sobbing while listening to Enya, and that hadn’t been awkward at all. It didn’t make any sense. 

Jon broke the silence first by clearing his throat. “Well, I’d best be off, then. Have, uh, have a good weekend, Martin.” He went to get his jacket and put his shoes on. 

“You, too, Jon.” 

He followed Jon to his front door and opened it for him. “See you soon. And don't hunch over so much,” he said, as he watched Jon walk down the hallway.

He closed the door then leaned against it and exhaled. 

“Well. That was certainly…something.” 

He hadn’t heard Sasha come back, but looked up and saw her standing in the living room with her arms crossed and smirking. 

“Oh! You surprised me.” 

“You must have been deep in thought, Mr. Blackwood. What was all…that about?”

“What do you mean?”

Sasha gave him a look. “You _know_ what I mean. You and Jon. You seem to like him.”

Martin felt himself get a little defensive, but only because Sasha was absolutely right, as always.

“I do like him, he’s a good - friend. I mean I’ve only met him twice before today.”

“Uh huh,” Sasha said knowingly. It was infuriating, how astute she was. Not that he’d ever admit it. “Speaking of ‘friends’, when do you see Tim again?”

Martin stifled a groan. “Um, we have plans tomorrow - he’s making me dinner.”

“That sounds romantic.”

“It does.”

“And intimate.”

“…Yeah.”

“And very…private.”

“Very. Very, very - private.” 

Sasha didn’t say anything. She could clearly see right through him, and was waiting for him to open up to her. Frustrating.

“Sasha.”

“Hmm?”

“I, uh, I’m - I’m feeling nervous about it? Like, really, really nervous?” When he felt especially insecure he phrased all his statements like questions, as he was doing now. 

“Well, why’s that? He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?”

“He is, he’s very, very nice. Don’t have a bad thing to say about him, really.”

“You’ve been on several dates now, right?”

“Um, yeah, four?”

“Have you talked about…things yet?”

“Um………nnnnnno?”

Seeing he wasn’t going to continue, she said, “Martin, I don’t want to keep pulling teeth out of you like this, we’d be here all night and I am feeling a little tired. Out with it.”

Martin sighed and went to sit on the couch, where Sasha joined him. “It’s just - okay, he’s nice, I like him, he likes me, there’s no pressure, well, he’s not giving me any pressure. But I just think, he’s expecting things, that I can’t give him?” He paused. “We haven’t - we haven’t _done_ anything yet, and he’s been fine with it, but I just know that he’d - that he wants to - he could just have it so much easier with someone else, with someone who’s not…me. You know?”

Sasha just looked at him. “Okay, so - you said he’s not pressuring you, but you also said you feel like he has these…expectations. Has he told you that explicitly?”

“Well, no.”

“So how do you know he has them?”

“I - I just assumed. I mean, normal people want to - to have sex, right? Like, at least after a few dates?”

“Martin, don’t use the n word again.”

Martin sighed. “I’m also just, not sure - I mean - I haven’t been in a relationship for so long, the idea makes me really, really nervous. What if - what if something happened? What if - how would I -“

Sasha interrupted him as he started to hyperventilate. “Martin, stop, it’s okay. I know. I know.” She paused. “Have you, you know - _talked_ to Tim about these things?”

She knew the answer already. Martin looked at his lap and said quietly, “No.”

“Why not?”

“I - I’m worried he’d leave. I’m worried he’d - make fun of me. Tell his friends. They’d laugh at me if I ever went to the Rusty Arms again.”

He felt Sasha touch his shoulder. “That wouldn’t be very nice of him, would it? And you said before, he’s a nice man, right?”

“He is. Really nice. I just….” He looked down and barely whispered, “I just don’t want it to happen again, Sash.”

Sasha squeezed his shoulder and leaned in to give him a side hug. “I know,” she murmured into his neck. “You’ve really protected yourself very well ever since El- ever since your last, um…situation. And you haven’t gotten hurt again. But,” she paused, and continued carefully, “I think it’s time for you to talk to Tim. To tell him, open up a little. Have a conversation. Most people in the world won’t hurt you, Martin. The fact that Tim hasn’t pressured you into anything and still wants to see you, wants to make you dinner, even - those are very promising signs, alright?”

Martin nodded. She was right, as usual. It just felt so scary - making himself vulnerable, on purpose, without knowing how the other person would react. He’d vowed at one point to never do it again. He’d almost died the last time. 

“I think Tim will be very sympathetic. And not being in a restaurant, that should make it easier, though you won't be able to keep putting the serious conversation off." Martin frowned. Busted. "Besides, if he does hurt you, you do know I will absolutely kill him, after torturing him first, of course.”

Martin smiled. “I know.”

“Promise me you won’t cancel on him, okay? He really, really likes you. Give him a chance.”

Martin looked at her and said softly, “I promise.”

“Now this Jon person….”

Martin groaned.

“You seem to really like him, too. Despite just meeting him, you two seem to have a strong connection. I could feel it.”

“Yeah, I think we do. I feel somehow…like I’m bonded to him now. He really -“ his voice faltered as he got a little choked up. He cleared his throat. “He really helped me today.”

“What did he do?” she asked softly.

“He - he just took charge, without me asking him to, like it was nothing. He had Helen cancel the rest of my appointments. He took me home. He made me tea. He asked me about what I - what I do when this happens. I played him - I played him the -“

Sasha’s jaw dropped. “Did you play him the Enya?”

Martin looked at her. “I - I played him the Enya.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“It was an emergency! I had completely blacked out!”

“Still, Martin, the Enya??? NO ONE knows about the Enya!!!” 

Martin sighed and rubbed his temples. “Well, he does now.”

“And? How did he react? I will beat him up if he gave you any shit for it.” Martin could see Sasha flexing her biceps at the mere thought.

“He didn’t laugh. He didn’t bat an eyelash, actually. He just - stayed with me, kept me company, but also gave me the distance I needed. He was…it was perfect.”

Sasha relaxed. “Wow, I’m…speechless. Jon, huh?”

Martin smiled. “Yeah. Jon.”

They each sat in silence, thinking about Jon, although probably in slightly different ways, Martin hoped.

“_Well_, I expect to be kept FULLY up to date on how THAT works out.” Sasha’s voice was dripping with meaning.

Martin looked at her suspiciously. “What exactly are you insinuating, Ms. James?”

“Oh, you know what I’m insinuating, Mr. Blackwood.”

Martin feigned a look of shock. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, of course. Just - when you need advice about how to make a throuple work, give me a ring.”

Martin couldn't keep up the facade any longer. “A what?”

“A throuple. A couple but with three people.”

Martin blushed quite strongly. “Look, Sasha, I don't know how to date one person, let alone TWO at the same time; let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I’m just saying, I think you have two amazing men in your life now, and I don’t think you need to settle for just one, if you don’t want to. It could work.”

Martin was extremely skeptical. How could he go from being basically celibate for years to overnight being in a - a _throuple_? That just…didn’t happen to people like him. “Sasha?”

“Mmm?”

“How do you know so much about throuples, anyway?”

“Oh, _no reason_,” she said sarcastically. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime. Suffice it to say, I have some idea of what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” He gave her a look. “I had no idea you had it in you. You, in a throuple.”

She looked a little embarrassed herself. “I - it’s not all fun and games, it’s a lot of work. But it’s an option. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I get it, it’s okay. Thanks, Sasha.” He yawned. “Well, shall we retire, then, m’lady?”

“How are you feeling? Do you want me to sleep on the floor in your room?”

“No, no, no need for that, yet.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll be out here if you need me. Keep your door open, okay? In case you have a nightmare. I’ll be here.”

Martin smiled and gave her a hug. “Okay. Thank you, Sasha. For everything.”

Sasha embraced him. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next episode of the Masseur:
> 
> -Martin goes to Tim's house and tries not to be an emotional disaster and, let's face it, totally fails, but it's okay. We love Martin.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin goes to Tim's flat for a date and prepares to have The Big Talk without fainting or dying of shame.  
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(spoiler alert - he does not faint or die of shame!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains discussion of past intimate partner abuse, but doesn't get into specifics. Lots of hurt/comfort in this one.

Martin had been standing in the florist’s shop for nearly thirty minutes, debating between the same three bouquets, and he was still nowhere near a decision. The shopkeeper had tried a few times to see if he needed help, but Martin rebuffed her, in an uncharacteristically ornery way, and then she left him alone. He still had a bit of an emotional hangover from the activities of yesterday - his complete descent into a PTSD flashback, in front of a near stranger who then took care of him, while he was at his most vulnerable, was all a bit much for him to process. And now he had a new situation to deal with.

Maybe if he kept waffling, time would stop and he wouldn’t need to go to Tim’s house and have a Very Important Discussion and then probably faint and wake up in the street and go home and never see Tim and never leave his house again. He could get food delivered, and find a job where he could work from home. Maybe he could avoid everything and everyone for the rest of his life. Or, better idea - he could stay in the shop, pay rent to the florist, and even get a job there, sweeping the floors after hours. There’d be no need for him to visit the outside world again. What a grand idea. 

Martin’s sense of self-preservation was extremely heightened; ever since he escaped from El - from his ex - (no, that wasn’t quite right; He didn’t deserve that title) - from his abuser, he’d been on high alert to any perceived danger to his safety, no matter how small. He’d spent the last several years in his metaphorical cave, and it was nice there, it was safe. He’d even put up some lovely decorations. Yes, it was a bit lonely, but it was better than his previous environment, and in his mind, those were the two options that existed - safe and therefore lonely, or exposed, vulnerable and endangered. And he’d just been very vulnerable with Jon.

He was coming increasingly close to opening himself up to Tim, as well, and Tim was a nice man but, as he kept reminding himself, he didn’t really know him. His abuser had been very charming initially, also, and Martin had been particularly susceptible to it, having been new to the area and only in his early 20s when they met (which he knew was very appealing to El- Him). His abuser had begun showing his true intentions very, very slowly, over a long period, waiting until He’d fully isolated Martin before doing what He’d intended as soon as they met, and by the time Martin knew what was going on, he’d been so brainwashed that he didn’t think there was any way out. And there nearly wasn’t. As awful as it was, he knew he was lucky - for many, there really isn’t a way out. He managed to escape, and he was forever grateful for that.

In short, his brain was having a difficult time, to say the least, going from his former coping mechanism of avoiding people, men specifically, to trusting them again and opening up. He just hoped Tim was up for the challenge, as Sasha thought he would be. 

Martin was going to be late; he chose a bouquet at random and paid for it (and left a large tip out of guilt for his earlier crabbiness), then headed for Tim’s flat as his anxiety ramped up to new heights.

——————————

“Martin! Good to see you!” Tim exclaimed when he opened the door, wearing a cute apron, pattered with hedgehogs and frills; he then gave Martin a quick kiss on the lips, leaving him slightly breathless (or was that from the stairs?). 

He flushed. “Um, it’s - it’s good to see you, too, Tim. I brought you -“ he held up the bouquet.

“Aww, you didn’t need to do that! They’re beautiful. Let me get a vase.” 

Before Martin could get a word in, Tim turned and rushed into the kitchen. Martin stepped hesitantly into Tim’s flat, and slid off his coat and shoes, then scanned the front room. It was sparsely decorated - he supposed Tim didn’t spend much time at home, and not everyone was as into home decorating as he was. He noticed Tim had a sofa, a TV, a small coffee table, and a couple of lamps, and that was about it. 

His phone buzzed. Sasha. 

_You can do this_  
_I love you_  
_Let me know if you want me to come over later._

He instantly relaxed a little, and hoped she was right.

_ Thanks; I will_  
_More later_

“Come in, sit down, make yourself at home,” Tim encouraged, and Martin supposed he didn’t have to keep standing by the front door looking like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to bolt (he may have been thinking that, but he didn’t have to be so obvious about it).

Martin hadn’t noticed how hungry he was until he caught several whiffs of garlic, roast beef, and fresh bread. “Tim, some- something smells amazing!”

“Don’t sound so surprised, I’m at least halfway decent in the kitchen,” Tim responded, throwing an arm over Martin’s shoulder. _Tim is safe, I’m safe here,_ Martin repeated in an attempt to convince himself. Tim looked into Martin’s eyes, and said in a more serious tone, “I missed you; wanted to be sure to pull out all the stops.” 

Martin blushed and looked down in embarrassment. “Oh, um, you - you didn’t need to do that.” He looked up after a bit, and saw that Tim was just looking at him warmly. _Tim is safe. Tim is safe._

“I wanted to. Besides, you’re worth it, Martin Blackwood.” Tim gazed at him for a few moments, then broke away just as it was getting awkward, and headed back into the kitchen, calling back, “Just have to finish a few things. There’s wine in the kitchen.”

Martin cleared his throat and followed Tim, then took a seat at the kitchen table, already set with two place settings, and helped himself to a generous pour of red wine. He watched Tim taste something from a Dutch oven on the stovetop, then open the oven and pull out a loaf of French bread. 

"Just about there,” Tim muttered. 

Martin continued sipping his wine and looked around the kitchen. There was more life in here than in the living room - Tim had a decent amount of cookware; maybe he actually was a good cook. There was a paper calendar on the wall featuring someone rock climbing. _Sporty, _he thought. “Um, is there anything I can do, to help?” Martin asked.

“No, no - you sit down - I’m treating you, remember?” Tim winked at him, and Martin blushed again. _Damnit_. He didn’t know what else to do so he kept drinking his wine. 

Shortly after that, Tim brought a basket to the table with thick slices of the hot French bread and a small ramekin of butter, and a ceramic soup tureen with a ladle. “Wow, this is quite fancy,” Martin said, impressed. Most people his age did not have a soup tureen, or a bread basket.

Tim blushed a little. “Oh, it was my grandmother’s. I do like to have a well-stocked kitchen.” 

“I barely have a pot with a matching lid and one cutting board,” Martin admitted, making Tim laugh. 

“Well, um - shall we eat? I made beef stew, using some of the red wine that we’re drinking, and I made some bread, as well.” 

“Wow, you made the bread, too? That’s…amazing! I’ve never made bread before,” Martin said as he ladled some beef stew into his bowl.

“Oh, it’s - it’s easy, really,” Tim said, looking bashful as he buttered a piece of bread. “Today was my first full day off in ages, so I had the time. It’s how I relax.”

Martin took a bite of the stew and couldn’t help but moan. The beef was so tender it was falling apart, and the sauce was perfectly seasoned with lots of flavors (garlic, red wine, rosemary) melding together perfectly. “This is really, really good. I haven’t had a home cooked meal like this in ages.”

“Oh, th- thank you,” Tim said. He was normally pretty suave, but Martin noticed he was a bit more bashful tonight. _Wonder what that’s about. _

They continued eating and lightly chatting, and Martin started to relax. Eating real food helped a lot. (As did the wine, probably.) 

Martin insisted on helping to put the food away and wash up, despite Tim’s protests; he found where Tim kept plastic containers, then put the leftovers in the fridge, and started drying dishes while Tim washed. He found himself relaxing further, feeling almost normal, in this very domestic scenario. _This is nice, with him,_ he thought to himself. _I could do this every night._

“What are you thinking about?” Tim asked. 

“Oh, uh,” - Martin didn’t want to scare him off by telling him the truth. “I, just - you have a, um, a very nice kitchen.”

“It’s even nicer now that you’re here,” Tim replied before lightly bumping his hip into Martin. 

Martin nearly dropped the bowl he’d been drying.

“Too much?” Tim asked. _He certainly is perceptive._

Martin blushed again. “N- no, actually, I like it.” He smiled shyly and glanced up at Tim, who was looking in the sink but smiling to himself. “I just don’t want to break any of your dishes.” Tim just laughed.

They finished washing the dishes, and as Tim was drying his hands, he said, “I didn’t make anything for dessert, but I did buy us a nice chocolate bar to share, I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course it’s alright, I love chocolate. You did enough, with the stew and the bread; the stew must have been simmering for hours.” 

Tim just smiled, and brought out a deluxe dark chocolate bar from a local chocolatier; it was studded with pistachios and dried cherries. Martin took a small piece. “Mmm, I love dark chocolate. You’ve really outdone yourself, Tim.”

Tim was standing close to him and said softly, “Like I said - you’re worth it,” then leaned down to lick a small fleck of chocolate from the corner of Martin’s lips. 

Martin instantly flushed and felt himself get hard - he couldn’t help it. Then he started to feel a slow trickle of dread, as he usually did when anything sexual came up. His abuser had royally fucked him up in that regard, and he hadn’t been able to shake the association ever since. He knew he should have gone to therapy, but…he hadn’t. He’d thought if he distracted himself long enough, started a new career, met new people, that it would go away. But it was like a giant trunk tucked in the basement of his mind that he didn’t want to get rid of, or open, for fear of what he’d really find. Of what everyone he cared about would find there. What they’d think of him.

But if he wanted this to work, with Tim, with Jon (with…whatever this was going to be), and he knew he did, he knew he’d have to open it. 

Martin felt two hands touch his shoulders. “Hey, I lost you there,” Tim said gently, looking somewhat concerned. 

Martin shook his head, trying to push those earlier images from his head. “Sorry, I -.” He stopped. Was this it? He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the increasing pulse of his heart. _Give him a chance_, he heard Sasha say. “Tim. I - there’s something I should…tell you.”

Martin could see Tim try not to let his face fall, and barely succeed. “Of - of course. Do - do you want to sit down? Shall I make some tea?” He stuttered, uncharacteristically. Martin already felt awful.

“Uh, yes, please, I think I’ll need it.”

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Martin did as he was told, and sat on the edge of the sofa, decidedly not relaxed. His inner monologue started racing. _I could leave. I could leave right now, I wouldn’t even need to say goodbye. I could get a cab home, stay in the rest of the weekend, turn my phone off_. He shook his head, determined to do this, and reminded himself to breathe. 

Tim walked in carrying two mugs, and set them down on the coffee table, taking a seat next to Martin, but not touching him. “Thanks,” Martin said as he picked his up and started sipping. He hoped having something to hold would keep Tim from noticing how his hands were shaking. 

“I’m not sure where to start, to be honest,” Martin blurted out. He looked at Tim, who looked like he was preparing to have his heart broken. Martin reached out and touched Tim’s shoulder, and Tim looked a little relieved. “I really like you, Tim; I really like spending time with you. I’d like to do it more…if you want to.”

Tim looked surprised; he must not have been expecting that. “Of - of course I want to! Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well.” Martin swallowed some tea. “Um. I’m not sure how to say this.”

Tim touched Martin’s knee and said quietly, “Take your time.” He was so gentle with Martin, it made him start to tear up. 

He tried to will the wetness in his eyes back into his eye sockets, cleared his throat, and continued. “I really, really want to be with you, Tim, but before we get…closer, I think - I think there are some things you should know about - about me. So that you can - so that you can make an - an informed dec- decision.” His hand was shaking so much that he nearly spilled tea on himself as he tried to drink it, but he knew he had to continue. Tim took the mug from him and put it on the coffee table, and kept his hand on Martin’s thigh; it felt like it was grounding him. He needed it.

“I’m not - I’m not normal.” Tim started protesting, but Martin interrupted him. “I mean, what I mean is - I. Christ, how do I say this?” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then looking back down, exhaled, and closed his eyes. His heart was beating as though he were sprinting. Everything in his body was telling him to flee, but he stayed. “Okay. I haven’t dated anyone in awhile, as you probably know. But the reason why is bec - is because the last…the last guy I…, He - He. Well.” 

Martin paused and steeled himself, and felt Tim squeezing his thigh harder. He put his hand on top of Tim’s, and squeezed it in return.

“I can’t - I won’t say his name. He…abused me. In…in all possible ways.” Martin paused; he couldn’t elaborate on the details then, and hoped Tim understood what he meant. “He - He nearly ki- he nearly killed m- me.” Martin stopped to drink the rest of his tea, then continued. “It was - it was years ago, but - but I - I - it feels as though it happened yesterday. I haven’t been able to get close to anyone new since then. I’ve been too scared. I don’t want to get hurt again.” He paused. “And then, suddenly, I meet you without even trying, and - you’re so nice to me, and so patient, and so gentle.” He felt Tim squeeze his thigh again, though he couldn’t look at him. 

He started crying, but kept talking. “I can’t - I have to - I have to take things…slower, a lot slower, than you probably want. Than most people would - would want. And I - I understand if you - if that’s not okay for you, I really do. This is - it’s a lot to ask of someone. And I just - wanted - I just wanted you to kn- to know, before we really commit to something. I don’t want to - to burden you.”

He continued. “I admit I’ve - I’ve been avoiding this conversation. I knew it was coming. I - it’s not - this isn’t something I want to do, but I, well.” His voice faltered. He felt exhausted, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his forehead with his hands. “That’s what I - that’s what I wanted to - to say,” he mumbled, afraid to open his eyes.

Several beats of silence passed, and his heart continued pounding anxiously in his chest. He had to fill the quiet - it was unbearable. “I can - I can go, if you want.” 

His heart sank when he felt Tim’s hand leave his thigh; then, he heard him whisper in his ear, “Martin, can I hold you?”

Martin instantly started crying again, and nodded. Tim kissed his cheek, then gently took his shoulders and directed him down onto the couch, adjusting themselves so that they laid side by side, with Tim as the big spoon. They fit together perfectly. Martin felt Tim wrap his arms tightly around his belly, as though he’d never let go, and Martin felt himself begin to relax again. They lay there like that, silent, for a long time, well after the tears on Martin’s face had dried and his heart rate went back to normal. _Tim is safe, Tim is safe. I am safe._

Martin had almost fallen asleep when Tim spoke up. “Martin, thank you for telling me, for trusting me. I’m - I’m so - so upset, and angry that that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it. No one deserves it.” Martin responded by tightly gripping Tim’s forearm. “That other stuff - it doesn’t matter to me. Really. It’s not - it could never - you could never be a burden. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I would be honored to be your boyfriend.”

Martin started tearing up again at that. No one had told him that before, especially not after confessing all that he had just confessed. “Okay,” he whispered; it was all he could manage to get out in his current state. He felt Tim give him a little squeeze.

“And if you tell me who the bastard is, I’ll kill him for you.” 

Martin laughed. “You’ll have to fight Sasha for that honor.”

“We could work together. Would make it go quicker.”

“Well, Mr. Stoker, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

They snuggled for a bit more, then Martin had to use the bathroom after all that tea and wine, so he unfortunately had to leave Tim’s warm embrace. As he was washing his hands, he looked in the mirror. His eyes were a bit puffy, but he wasn’t crying anymore. _I did it. I actually did it._ He texted Sasha as much, knowing she’d be worried. She texted back immediately.

_OMG you did???? How did it go????_  
_I’ve been thinking about you all day!_

_It was hard, but good._  
_We snuggled after._

😍😍😍  
_Phew, I’m so happy! You did it!_

_The date isn’t over yet_  
_so I have to go, will text you later_  


😜 _you better!_

_Thank you, for everything_  
♥️♥️♥️

_Love you_

_Love you, too_

  
Martin put his phone away, and went back to the living room, where Tim was sitting, finishing his tea. 

“Well,” he said slowly, starting to feel a bit awkward again. “I, um, I’m sorry for…commandeering part of your planned evening, I’m sure you had…other things in mind besides me, um…emotionally vomiting all over you.”

"You should feel free to emotionally vomit on me anytime," Tim said with a grin. “But seriously, don’t apologize. It’s nothing that couldn’t wait.” He patted the seat next to him on the couch, and Martin went over and sat next to him. “Besides,” Tim continued, looking into Martin’s eyes, “You’re more important.”

Martin felt his heart flutter, in a good way this time, and said, “Thank you,” before leaning in and giving Tim a long, tender kiss on the mouth. Tim responded eagerly, and wrapped his arms around Martin, pulling him closer. Martin felt comfortable enough to gingerly flick his tongue onto Tim’s lips, and Tim quickly opened his mouth, letting his tongue slowly meld with Martin’s. 

It was very difficult, but Martin pulled away after a little while, not wanting to get too carried away. He said, a bit breathlessly, “You’re an excellent kisser.”

“Likewise,” Tim winked, then got more serious. “If I ever - just, tell me if I’m going too fast, alright? And I’ll check in with you, too. I won’t ever do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay?”

Martin smiled gratefully. “Okay; thank you, Tim.” He then cleared his throat. “Well, did you have anything else planned besides us…making out?”

“Not really.” Tim laughed. “Just kidding, I did pick out a movie, but figured we would get distracted partway through and wouldn’t finish it.” 

Martin pretended to look offended. “Distracted?”

Tim looked a little bashful. “Sue me.” He got up and put a DVD into his DVD player then sat back down on the couch. “I couldn’t find the film I wanted streaming, so I got a hard copy. It’s another Cary Grant movie, Sylvia Scarlett.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Tim sat down then put his arm around Martin’s shoulder, and Martin leaned in to snuggle as the movie started. It was peaceful, safe, and warm. And they actually managed to watch the whole thing, aside from a few brief kissing breaks. Martin decided Katharine Hepburn looked quite fetching in men's clothing.

After the movie was over, Martin yawned. He’d had a big day. A big couple of days, really; he was completely exhausted. 

“I bet you’re beat,” Tim said, rubbing Martin’s back. 

“Yeah. It’s been…a _bit_ of a weekend, to say the least.”

“Oh yeah? What happened yesterday?”

Martin groaned. “I - well, I had a - a flashback, back to when - back to - “ He stopped and took a deep breath. “I had a flashback while I was at work. I completely blacked out; something reminded me of - of. Well. Anyway, it was really embarrassing, it was in front of a client. I was in - I was in shock, really; so much so that the client actually took me home. But he, he stayed with me, and took care of me.”

“Oh no, that sounds awful! Does that happen often?”

“Never. Never once has that happened to me at work. But I obviously have some…lingering trauma that pops up. It’s bound to pop up with you, as well. I can’t - I can’t control it.” 

Tim rubbed his back, and Martin visibly relaxed. “I know, it’s alright. That must have been quite scary.”

“It was…terrifying, to be honest. I like to be in control, you know? Especially at work. I don’t like knowing that that could happen at any time. And it, it hadn’t ever happened before, at work, like that. One second I was giving someone a massage, and the next I - I was -“

“Shhh,” said Tim, as he continued rubbed Martin’s back; it helped bring him back from the memory. 

“Anyway, between that and today, I’ve had a very good but rather…emotionally exhausting weekend. I think I could sleep for 12 hours straight.” He stifled another yawn.

“I certainly don’t blame you at all. You deserve a day of rest.” Tim looked into Martin’s eyes and said, sincerely, “I’m really happy you came over, Martin. Thank you for opening up to me.”

Martin smiled and looked down. “I’m really glad I did, too. Thank you for - for everything." He paused, then made eye contact with Tim. "You set the bar quite high for next time, you know.” 

Tim grinned, then looked shyly at the floor.

“I’d like you to meet him sometime, the guy who helped me yesterday.”

Tim looked up. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I - I think you’d like him. He’s not just a client, he’s - he’s a friend. Jon. His name is Jon.”

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Tim said with a smile. Martin smiled back. He couldn’t wait for them to meet.

Tim walked Martin to the front door and waited as he put his coat and shoes back on. He leaned in to give Tim a hug, and when he pulled away he said, “Next time I'd love to hear about you, and your past, if you want to talk about it. I certainly don’t have a monopoly on past…experiences.” 

Tim chuckled. “I’d - I’d like that very much.” Then he got serious. "I do have one question, though."

"Yes?"

"Did you - did you really think I'd walk away, after that?"

Martin took a deep breath. "I - I just really...didn't know. Honestly, I was scared you would. It's - really difficult for me to talk about, I don't have much practice in it. None, really. I just...didn't know what would happen, so I - I prepared for the worst. As I often do."

Tim nodded solemnly. "That makes sense. I am really, really glad that you talked to me. I'd have hated if you'd just tried to...fade away." Tim clasped his hands. "I don't want to lose you, Martin."

Martin felt his eyes well up again. "I really didn't want to lose you, either."

They gazed at each other for a few moments, then Tim leaned down to give him a goodnight kiss. “Sweet dreams,” he said softly. 

“Sweet dreams. See you soon.” 

Martin could feel Tim watching him as he walked down the hallway; at the end of the hall, he turned and waved, and Tim waved back. Martin smiled to himself, then felt all the emotional exhaustion of the past two days fall on him like ton of bricks. He had to steady himself on the railing as he went down the stairs. He couldn’t wait to get home and get in bed.

While he was on the Tube, he checked his phone, and saw a message from Jon from earlier that evening; he had promised to check in on him. 

_Hi Martin, it’s Jon_  
_(As you probably know)_  
_Anyway, I was just_  
_wondering how you were doing?_  
_I hope you’re okay._  
_Let me know if you need me_  
_or need anything, I mean. _

Martin could practically hear Jon hit himself on the head after sending those texts, and he smiled. He was beginning to realize how delightfully awkward Jon was.

_Hi Jon, thanks for checking in_  
_I’m doing much better today_  
_I can’t thank you enough for yesterday_  
_You really didn’t have to do that_  
_but it made all the difference_  
_Hope to see you again under _  
_somewhat less traumatic conditions._

Martin spaced out for a little while, and when he checked his phone again before getting off at his stop, he saw that Jon had replied. 

_Oh it was nothing._  
_I mean, you’re welcome._  
_I was happy to do it._  
_I’d like to see you soon, too. _  
_I mean again._  
_Ideally without one of us blacking out. _

Martin chuckled.

_Yes, that would be ideal._  
_Good night, Jon_

He didn't not to tell Jon about Tim yet, not over text like this, anyway. Maybe Sasha was right, maybe something could work between the three of them. He didn’t know Jon that well; he hoped Jon and Tim could get along. But honestly, he didn’t even know what Jon wanted. Maybe he didn’t want this at all. Martin sighed. There was clearly much to be discussed.

He did know, however, that even though this was all very new to him, he was coming to realize he’d be heartbroken if he lost either one of them. And even though it was early stages in both cases, he thought they’d each be heartbroken, too.

_Sasha better be right,_ he thought to himself as he unlocked the door to his flat. He was barely able to brush his teeth, put on his pyjamas, and send Sasha an IOU text before flopping into bed and falling dead asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Jon have dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience on this latest chapter; I'm not sure what my posting schedule will be like going forward but I don't want to go more than two weeks without posting an update.

Martin was sitting alone on a bench in a park, and he could see fog rolling in, slowly and steadily. The few people who had been strolling around the grounds started to leave, but Martin stayed. He knew from past experience that he didn’t really have a choice. He closed his eyes, and just waited. That was all he could do. 

The fog didn’t make a sound but he could feel it starting to encroach upon him; soon he would be enveloped by it, would be reminded of how quiet and comforting it was. Didn’t he want to stay? Wasn’t it safer here? Didn’t he remember, how it used to be? He kept breathing, and tried to resist these niggling questions that were entering his psyche. He knew they weren’t coming from him; he only hoped he could remember that, later. 

The fog was entering his ears and his nose, and seeping into the exposed skin of his hands and his neck. It wouldn’t be long now. 

Slowly he heard a growing din of people murmuring, the ringing of a cash register, the gentle clatter of ceramic cups being placed upon saucers, and the tinny sound of metal spoons hitting the sides of tea cups. He groaned inwardly. This place again.

Martin opened his eyes, and sighed. He was in the coffee shop this time, one of his least favorites. He was at the usual table for two in the back - it was secluded, yet still visible to most everyone in the shop. Elias always did like to show him off and push his buttons, knowing Martin wouldn’t want to cause a scene in a public place. And if he did, he knew he’d get punished later. It was best to just play along. 

“Ah, there you are,” Elias greeted Martin, holding two cups. He set them down and took the chair opposite Martin, facing the back wall, as usual. That way no one could see the horrible things that were going to come out of his mouth. “Tea, as you like it.” 

Martin looked at the cup in front of him skeptically.

“Oh, you know I can’t poison you here, in this environment,” Elias scoffed. “Besides, that wouldn’t be very _fun_, now would it? The party’s only just started.”

“Most parties I know of involve _invitations_,” Martin said sarcastically.

“Forgive me, my assistant is off this week.” 

Martin smiled wanly, and took a sip. He hated how good it was.

“I never did forget how you…take it,” Elias said carefully, before taking a sip of his own. 

Martin’s stomach did a flip flop, and he felt the initial trickle of dread that had started when he entered the coffee shop turn into a flood through his veins; he also, unfortunately, started to feel a little aroused, and he hated himself for it. Hated himself very much, and similarly hated how he knew that that was Elias’s goal.

Elias grinned, clearly knowing he won that round, and cleared his throat. “Now then. It has been awhile, hasn’t it, Martin? Much too long. You’re looking well.” Elias took his time looking at Martin, and peered into his mind; Martin couldn’t stop him. “Very well.” He sighed. “I guess you’re doing just fine without me.”

“I guess so,” Martin sneered. He tried to be harsh, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d tried to outwit Elias before, but it had never worked in the past. He’d just had to clench his fists and wait for it to be over; it always ended, eventually. 

“Not too talkative today. A shame.” Elias leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, as I’m sure you’re aware. I try to be discreet, but….” Elias chuckled. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about your new…friends.”

The blood drained from Martin’s face. _He couldn’t._

“They seem very nice, I have to say. Maybe a bit plain, not your…usual type.” Elias raised his eyebrow while saying that last phrase, making Martin growl under his breath. “That Tim fellow is quite nice looking; and Jon - now there’s a handsome man. Very handsome, indeed.”

“_Stay. Away. From them._” Martin warned. 

“Now, now. As I was saying, as a…a dear _friend_-“

“Is that what you’re calling yourself now?” Martin scoffed as he shot daggers at him with his eyes; he knew Elias’s eyes would always be stronger, but he had to do something.

“As an…_invested party_,” Elias continued, “I just wanted to…remind you, of your…limitations, before you go out and do something…shall we say, foolish.”

“I am quite aware of my limitations, thank you, or should I say, your limitations on me.”

Elias raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, actually,” Martin quietly retorted. He wasn’t afraid anymore. 

“I’m trying to _protect_ you.” Elias was beginning to sound a bit strained, which was unusual. 

“_Protect_ me? That’s rich. That is rich, Elias.” Martin guffawed, loud enough to cause a few people nearby to turn their heads at the sound. That was new. “So you admit you are limiting me, then.” 

Elias took a deep breath and Martin could see him trying to put his mask of rationality back on. “I do no such thing, and I don’t appreciate all of this backtalk that you’re doing. You’ve entirely lost your manners.”

Martin snorted. “Manners. Is that the best you can do?”

Elias looked momentarily confused, then a flicker of anger crossed his eyes. “If you were still with me, you’d be much better behaved that this.”

“If I were still with you, Elias, I’d be DEAD.” Martin raised his voice so that by the time he said the last word, he was shouting. Now everyone in the shop, including the barista, was looking at them, somewhat concerned.

“Be quiet,” Elias whispered, looking slightly stressed. 

Martin wasn’t supposed to cause a commotion, and in the past, he never had. He hadn’t been able to. It was as though this time, he had a new power, and he wasn’t going to waste it. 

He slowly stood up, and took his nearly full cup. He stood right over Elias, who purposely wasn’t looking up at him, and leaned down and said, quietly yet forcefully, “If you take me here again - if you take me _anywhere_ again, or if you so much as think about coming near my friends, I will kill you. And my _very plain friends_ will help me carefully dispose of the pieces of your body.” Martin then slowly poured the rest of his tea into Elias’s lap, and he heard him gasp as he started walking away. 

Martin put his now empty cup and saucer on the the counter, and the barista, who upon closer inspection looked a lot like Mike from the coffee shop near where Martin worked, said, in a worried tone, “Are you alright?”

Martin fished some cash out of his pocket and slid it across the counter. “I’m fine. But he-“ Martin pointed back at Elias - “He shouldn’t be allowed back here.”

Mike nodded. “He never tipped very well, anyway.” 

Martin chuckled, and left the coffee shop without looking back. When he opened the door, the fog had cleared up. 

——————————

Martin opened his eyes, and instead of being on the bench in the park, as he’d expected, he was lying on his stomach, in his bed. He was home. He rubbed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. 

He’d had many fog dreams since meeting El - since meeting Him, and he never did get used to how real they felt, and how difficult the transition back to real life was. Sometimes he couldn’t tell which was real, and which was the dream (and sometimes, back before he’d escaped, he’d wished he would wake up, say in the middle of a fight, when in the back of his mind he knew that unfortunately he wasn’t dreaming). 

_Him_. Martin groaned at the memory. He made a point to never say or even think His name in his waking life, but he had no control over his brain when he was sleeping. He sat up and reached out for the glass of water on his bedside table, and noticed that his hands were shaking. He could feel now that his heart was racing, and he could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears. 

_I can’t believe I just…did that. I just up and left._ Martin’s eyes widened as he remembered pouring his tea out. _And that I did…that. Well done, me. _

As good as it felt knowing he’d been triumphant for the first time ever, he still felt like a ball of exposed nerves after the dream encounter, as he usually did. Having Him invade his dream life never got easier as time went on, and he knew coming down from it would take awhile. He hadn’t been captured by the fog in quite a long time, now; he’d almost started thinking maybe it just wouldn’t come back. _How silly of me._ Martin supposed it would always be there, whether he wanted it or not. 

Although, his most recent uprising may throw a wrench into the fog’s future plans. Martin had never actually been able to successfully defend himself in the fog land before, had never been able to just get up and walk away. All the other times, he’d been trapped in his seat and only able to leave after he was allowed to, after He had finished with him, like a cat who eventually tired of its favorite toy. Maybe…maybe the stranglehold was beginning to lessen. And it probably wasn’t an accident that he had this dream after meeting two people who he’d opened up to, who cared about him as he cared for them.

He supposed this was originally intended to be a warning that he was getting too close and might get hurt again, and if this had happened even a few months ago, he might have listened. But now, he saw it, saw Him, for what this truly was - a force trying to exert its control over him, and Martin finally realizing he could overpower it.

Martin looked up - light was barely coming in through his bedroom window, so it must have been very early morning; he knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep - he didn’t want to risk getting caught in the fog again. And it was too early to call someone to talk to. He sighed, and got out of bed to go to the kitchen and make some - well, maybe not proper tea, just now. He thought he had something herbal deep in his cabinet that he could brew instead. 

—————————

Jon awoke with a start, the word “Martin" on his lips. His heart was pounding, and he felt as though he’d been screaming in his sleep. He sat up and looked around his room, and it was thankfully empty; more importantly, it was his, Jon’s, room, and not the last place he’d remembered being. Jon shuddered as he thought about it. He’d been trapped in an old building, running down corridor after corridor, seemingly never making any progress, and being chased by - Jon reached for the scar on his chest as he remembered. _Michael_.

The last thing he’d seen before waking was Martin standing in the corridor with him, clutching a knife, and turning a corner. Jon had tried to stop him, shouted at him to get away, that Michael would kill him, but Martin hadn’t heard him. Jon had been yelling his name when he woke up. 

He heard a banging sound coming from his floor. “Hey! Are you alright?” his downstairs neighbor shouted. Oh. That must have been what had woken him up.

“I’m okay, so- sorry!” he shouted back, then flopped back down onto his mattress.

Jon had had the corridor dream many times before, but he had always been alone, as he had been when it happened in real life. Every time he had it, he just ran, continuously, feeling Michael close behind but never being able to escape or fight back. It lasted until he woke up, and he was always panting, as though he’d actually been running. Martin being there was a new and interesting addition.

Jon didn’t even know why he tried to go to sleep most nights; he usually either couldn’t fall asleep, or, if he did, he had one of several nightmares in which he relived experiences from his life that he’d much rather forget. He was terrorized either way. He’d been able to sleep better since meeting Martin, but he clearly still had difficulties.

_Martin_. Jon wondered what Martin was doing right now, if he was sleeping, as he probably was, as most normal people were; he wondered what he was dreaming about. Wondering if he was dreaming about him….Jon scoffed. _Unlikely_. 

Knowing he’d been yelling in his sleep made Jon remember when he’d been at Martin’s flat, after Martin put on Enya in his bedroom. When Martin had fallen asleep, Jon had quietly gotten up and browsed his bookshelves in the living room, looking for something suitable to read, before giving up and lying on the couch. He must have dozed off; later, he was woken by a strange noise - he’d tried to understand what he was hearing while also wondering where he was. 

When he’d heard a faraway voice say, in a scared tone, “No” and “Stop,” it came back to him - he was in Martin’s flat, and Martin was having a very bad dream. Jon then kicked himself for not having stayed in the room with him, but he’d thought at the time that giving Martin some space was a good idea. Jon swore under his breath.

He thought about how he’d hurried down Martin’s hallway to the bedroom, and ran to his side. Martin looked like he was having a nightmare, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was actually asleep - his hands were covering his face, and his legs were shuddering involuntarily - he looked like he was running away from someone, someone scary. Jon could see that this flashback was a particularly bad one.

He had wanted to get Martin out of his memories as soon as he could, but he also didn’t want to drag him out of his current state too abruptly or touch him too much, in case Martin mistook him for his attacker, so Jon decided to try gently touching Martin’s hands, to remind him of where he was, and that he was safe. Hands seemed to have been a safe zone for Martin earlier, in the cab back from Camden Massage. As Jon’s hands warmed Martin’s, he could see him begin to calm down - his limbs stopped spasming, and he stopped shouting.

Jon remembered feeling unexpected wetness on his hands - Martin had started crying. Jon gently pulled Martin’s hands from his face, and wiped his tears away. His eyes were still clenched shut when he said, “Jon?” in the softest, most scared and heartbreaking voice Jon had ever heard. 

Jon had instantly felt terrible as he realized that Martin didn’t know who he was - maybe he thought he was still dreaming, and that he, Jon, was…He shuddered at the thought, then leaned in and said softly, “It’s me, Martin.” 

Jon felt tears form in his own eyes as he remembered the way Martin had reacted after that - watching the change in Martin’s face as he realized that he was safe, and that he could let his guard down completely; that had meant the world to Jon. He knew at that point that Martin probably still didn’t want to be touched, although all he really wanted to do was crawl behind him and be the big spoon. Instead, he kept his distance and sat next to him on the bed to stroke his hair, as a way of being close but not smothering. He was happy to sit there with him for as long as it took.

Jon shook the memory out of his head, then thought of Martin again, but the one right now, in Stockwell - was he okay? Was there a reason Jon had dreamed about him? He thought about their twin scars and wondered whether they were connected somehow. Maybe that was silly. 

Something in his heart was telling him Martin needed him, but he didn’t know if that was real or just wishful thinking. _Either way_….Jon got his phone out, and frowned when he saw how late it was, or early, rather_. Well, if he’s okay, hopefully his phone is on silent and he won’t even see this until he wakes up,_ Jon thought as he composed a text. 

Once he sent it, he got up to get a glass of water, and tried to distract himself. He knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep anyway. 

——————————

Martin had been working on his second cup of the peppermint tea he’d found in his kitchen cupboard when he got a text from Jon. 

_Hello Martin, I’m sorry for the late _  
_hour of this text, but I was - _  
_it’s hard to explain but I just wanted to see_  
_if you were alright. I had a dream and - _  
_well, nevermind. _  
_Anyway, I hope I didn’t wake you._

Martin smiled, then got slightly concerned. _El- He better not have invaded Jon’s dreams, too, the bastard._

_Hi Jon, you didn’t wake me. _  
_I actually had a dream, too, _  
_more of a nightmare, really. _  
_I hope yours wasn’t as bad as mine._

  
_Oh, just one of my garden-variety _  
_standards. Nothing unusual. _  
_Except, you were in it_

  
_Oh? What was I doing?_  
_Maybe you’d rather talk on the phone. _

  
_Oh no, I don’t talk on the phone. _  
_Ever._

Martin snorted. 

_I understand._

_Would you like me to come over?_  
_I mean, if you think that would be helpful._  
_Since I can’t - _  
_Since I don’t talk on the phone._  
_I don’t think I’ll be falling back asleep._

Martin considered it. He was still feeling exposed and tender after his dream, on top of his emotional confession to Tim the night before; some company provided by Jon sounded like the perfect distraction. He also knew the last thing his abuser would want would be for him to get close with not one but two men, so he decided to follow the example he started in his dream, and just go straight for what he wanted, since it had worked out so well before. He took a deep breath and responded. 

  
_I don’t think I’ll be falling asleep, either _  
_I would like that very much, if you don’t mind. _  
_I know it’s late, or early _  
_But I’d rather not be alone right now._  
_What I mean is, I would like to see you._

  
There was a bit of a delay, and Martin smiled as he pictured Jon frowning and trying to compose a response that adequately portrayed how pleased he was without sounding too excited and also not wanting to come off as clingy in a way that would turn Martin off. He knew because that’s how he had been trying to respond himself. It can take a bit of finesse.

_I’ll see you soon._

Brief, and to the point. Martin appreciated that.  
——————————  
Jon rushed to the nearest Tube station to get to Martin; he was able to get one of the first trains of the morning. He’d never taken the Tube this early before, and thanked the universe that he’d never had a job that required him to get up at such an ungodly hour, although when he got off at Stockwell, he had to admit that the pre-dawn light was quite lovely. 

He stopped into a 24 hour market nearby to see if they had anything decent he could pick up for breakfast; all the coffee shops and bakeries he could find in the area were still closed. He scrounged together some brioche rolls, strawberries, and some yogurt, and hoped that would do. 

He arrived at Martin’s flat soon after, and Martin let him in right away. He looked uncharacteristically tired. “Hi Jon, thanks for coming over,” he said almost shyly. 

“Oh, you- you’re welcome. I brought some, uh, food if you're hungry. There wasn't much open, at this hour.” He handed the shopping bag over to Martin, who peered inside.

“This looks perfect, I’ll take it to the kitchen.” 

Jon took off his coat and shoes, and followed him. “I can't remember the last time I've seen the sun begin to rise; it was nice. I would prefer if it happened later in the day, though.” 

Martin laughed as he took out a couple of plates and washed the berries, then he set everything down on the kitchen table. “Tea?” he offered Jon.

“Sure, I’ll have some.” 

Martin turned the kettle on and prepared a mug for one. 

“None for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I’m okay.”

They each helped themselves to the food Jon had brought, and didn’t talk much, seeing as they each were quite groggy still. Jon helped Martin clean up, and they wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. 

“Was there - was there anything in particular you wanted me to…do? Or that you needed, right now?” Jon asked.

“Hmm? Oh, I think - I think right now-” Martin yawned. “Sorry. Right now I could do with some birds of paradise.”

Jon was confused. “Pardon?” 

“Sorry, I mean, I’d like to watch a nature documentary on birds of paradise. They’re really fascinating, you know, their mating rituals in particular. Well, you probably don’t know, actually, but you will soon. It’s very exciting.” Martin was babbling, probably out of exhaustion, and Jon adored it.

He tried not to smile too much. “Sounds - fascinating.”

Martin got serious. “I’m sorry, Jon, I know it's probably boring. I just can’t talk about my dream yet, I’m still processing it.” Martin touched Jon’s forearm. “I’m really glad you’re here, though. Thank you for finding breakfast.”

Jon nodded. “Of course, I understand. You're welcome. Just - if you ever want to, talk about it, I mean, say the word, whenever you're ready.”

“What about your dream? You mentioned having a nightmare, too.”

“Oh, I can talk about it later. I think we’re both too tired to really do much else besides watch TV.”

Martin nodded and yawned. “Sorry.” 

“Case in point.” 

Martin spread a blanket across their laps. and then navigated to the episode of Planet Earth featuring his favorite flashy birds. They started out sitting next to each other, with their thighs barely touching, but as the episode progressed, Martin pressed himself closer and closer against Jon, probably out of exhaustion, but perhaps out of…Jon couldn’t bring himself to say. Halfway through, Martin fell against him, then nestled his head into the crook of Jon's neck. 

Martin kept yawning, and Jon had an idea, and he was too tired this time to censor himself. “Would you like to - I mean, maybe you could - do you want to - to lie down on my lap? Since you’re so tired -“

Jon barely finished before Martin wordlessly settled his head into Jon’s lap, adjusting himself so he was lying completely horizontally on the couch. He gave Jon the remote control, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he started to fall asleep. Jon pulled the blanket over him and hesitantly put his arm around Martin’s torso, wordlessly asking permission; he was pleased when he felt Martin take his arm and pull it tightly around him. Jon felt like he was keeping Martin safe, and it was a very good feeling. 

By the time the episode ended, Jon could feel himself nodding off. He looked down to see Martin fast asleep, and started to slowly lean against the side of the couch, careful not to wake him. It wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping position he’d ever had, but then, the fact that he had a sleeping Martin in his lap meant he’d put up with pretty much anything. Besides, he knew who could help him when he woke up with a painful crick in his neck.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin thinks he seems someone at in indoor market.
> 
> Jon and Tim meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks - short of an epilogue, this is the last chapter of this series. Would you believe when I first conceived of this I thought it would be at most three chapters, and not about PTSD? HOW SILLY OF ME. It is now like 55,000 words, by far the longest piece of fiction I've ever written, and I want to thank you for reading it and leaving lovely comments and encouraging me, a noob author. I would absolutely not have kept going had I not had your support, full stop. I just love you so much. 
> 
> And thank you for hanging in there on this update in particular - I have had a series of things happen to me in the last month which threw me off track and kept me from being in the right brain space for longer than I would have liked. I hope you enjoy.

Martin had this particular Saturday off - given everything going on in his life lately, made worse by his lack of sleep, he’d asked Helen to reschedule his clients for the day so he could have a bit more time off - and he was spending it with Tim at an indoor market. He had been feeling somewhat on edge since his dream in the coffee shop the other night, and the market was a little more crowded than he would have liked, but Tim had positively begged him to go, and he found he really couldn’t resist that face. 

“I promise I’ll make you dinner tonight with whatever I buy,” Tim had said, giving Martin the full-on puppy dog eyes treatment. Any resolve he might have had evaporated at that moment. 

“Are you saying I am so easily bought?” Martin asked, feigning shock.

Tim gave him a knowing grin. “I think you are, sir, at least, based on my _past personal experience_ in the matter.”

Martin huffed, but knew Tim was absolutely correct. “Alright, alright.”

Tim let out a whoop of joy and kissed Martin on the cheek. “You won’t regret this!”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And now here they were, coffees in hand. Martin practically dragged Tim by the collar to the nearest vendor selling coffee and pastries - if he was going to immerse himself in a crowded place on a Saturday morning, he’d need to be fully caffeinated. The still-warm almond croissant would help, too. Rationally, he knew that having a triple-shot mocha wouldn’t be the best thing for his anxiety, but his exhaustion was unmoved by that argument and won out.

Martin let Tim lead him around the vast indoor market as he picked up ingredients for dinner; apparently Tim got most of his food this way, and it was clear that he loved the energy of the crowds of people, as much as they made Martin nervous. He waited patiently while Tim studied various cuts of meat at a butcher, and asked to sample different kinds of cheese at a cheesemonger. Martin watched with a bit of pride as Tim sniffed many containers of spices, and chatted with a couple of fruit and veg vendors who he appeared friendly with. Martin was impressed - he shouldn’t have doubted that Tim knew what he was doing. 

Tim was talking to an artisan woodcarver about some wooden kitchen implements that she had on display; they were deep in conversation, so Martin caught Tim’s eye and motioned towards the bookseller across the way. Tim nodded, and continued talking with the woodcarver. 

Martin walked over and started browsing the selection in the tiny, cramped space, with books lining every wall and crammed into bookshelves in the middle of the floor; two people could barely pass each other it was so narrow. “Do you have any poetry?” he asked the shopkeeper, who pointed at a small shelf in the back of the stall. It wasn’t a huge selection, but he should have been grateful there was any at all. “I have more at my other location,” the shopkeeper called out. Martin turned around and smiled in acknowledgment, then turned back to study what few volumes there were - nothing he hadn’t seen before, unfortunately. 

He walked around the rest of the stall which was jam-packed with books, and tried not to run into anyone. He found himself stopped in front of the psychology section, near the stall’s entrance, and a slim volume on the meaning of dreams caught his eye. He pulled it out and started flipping through the pages, then felt a chill on the back of his neck. He rubbed his neck and continued reading, but then he felt it again. Martin frowned and started looking around to try and find the source. He saw Tim, still chatting with the woodcarver and now holding a couple kitchen tools. 

Something in Martin started prickling, then, and he hoped it was just the coffee, but he knew it wasn’t. He’d felt this before, though it had been a long time. The chill at his neck persisted, and grew colder; he frowned and hesitantly poked his head out of the stall and looked down the walkway of the market, which was crowded with people and seemingly only getting more packed. He looked to his left, and tried to catch the face of every person walking in his direction, but it was nearly impossible. He started to feel dread trickling into his stomach, and his heart started beating faster and faster. He quickly turned to his right, to try to locate some obvious explanation for his senses being dialed up to 11, to see if someone was staring at him, but nothing stood out; there were just too many people. He looked carefully around the bookseller’s stall and it felt more cramped than it had before; the ceiling appeared to be closing in on him. 

Martin started feeling out of breath. He quickly refiled the dreams book, and stepped into the walkway between the bookseller and the woodcarver, but his sense of claustrophobia only increased. He was frozen in his spot, standing right in the middle, and people were shoving their way around him. He frantically looked around, but everyone’s faces started melding together, and it felt as though they were all judging him, like they could really _see_ inside him, and didn’t like what they saw. He couldn’t blame them.

He then glanced at the stall that was two stalls down from the woodcarver - it was a very tiny food counter selling kabobs and had a few stools, all of which were occupied. He felt his eyes being drawn to them, like there was a magnetic force at play. Everyone sitting at the stools was happily eating a kabob. Wait. 

Martin’s heart stopped as he saw the man in the middle stool, who, unlike everyone else, was facing his direction. He didn’t have a kabob in hand. In fact, he was looking directly at him. When Martin finally steeled himself enough to look at the man’s face, blood rushed into his ears - suddenly there was no sound, and he couldn’t breathe.

_Those eyes. _

_His eyes._

_Icy blue._

The last time Martin had seen eyes that color, it had been at a police station, to positively identify his abuser. The police had reassured him that He couldn’t see Martin, but Martin could feel Him through the glass anyway, looking right at him. Those eyes could penetrate anything. He would never be able to forget that particular shade of blue, so distinctive and chilling. 

Martin abruptly came to back in the market, gasping for breath, static ringing in his ears, and still stood in the middle of a crowd of people walking in either direction. The man in the stool was gone. Could Martin even be sure of what he’d seen? He felt like he had finally lost his tenuous grip on reality, and he could feel himself falling further down a spiraling hole, with no way out.

“Sorry that took so lo-“ He felt a tug at his arm, and a voice which sounded very muffled asked, “Hey, are you alright?”

Martin couldn’t speak. He kept staring confusedly at the empty stool in the kabob shop, still expecting Him to be there. Was this real? Was he even here?

“Hey, let’s get you out of here, alright?” Martin could hear a bit of panic rising in the man’s voice as he felt himself get pulled away. He felt an arm around his waist and he was guided down the long walkway and outside, where there was some open space and fewer people. Martin was looking frantically at everyone around him, desperate to find the icy man again. To find Him again. 

“I know he’s here. I could feel it,” Martin said over and over when he and the man sat on a bench. His teeth were chattering. “I felt it. He’s here. He’s here. I felt him.” 

“Who’s here? Who did you see?” the man asked repeatedly, though Martin couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak the name out loud. 

The man's voice was starting to get more distant, and Martin’s vision started to fade. He could hear static rising ever louder in his ears, then he fully slumped over as he completely lost consciousness.

——————————

Jon was sitting in the reading room of a special collections library, having just gotten started on some research; he’d congratulated himself for getting an early start this Saturday morning, well, early for him. He’d been taking a few too many breaks lately, since he’d developed something of a social life for the first time in his adult life, and he’d hoped to get some work done before the hordes of researchers came in later in the day. (“Hordes” meaning, perhaps…five other people.)

He was flipping through a manuscript when his phone started vibrating. He usually remembered to turn it on silent when he was here, but he must have forgotten. He didn’t recognize the number and frowned, then sent it to voicemail, and silenced his phone. If it was really important, the person would leave a message.

He had just started reading where he’d left off when he saw his phone ringing again - same number. He swiped it away again. 

The same number called a third time. Jon furrowed his brow and sighed; apparently they weren’t the message-leaving type.

Jon quickly got up to exit the reading room to talk in the lobby and was quite annoyed as he answered: “Hello? Who’s calling?”

“JON! Thank God you picked up. It’s Tim, Martin - Martin’s, uh, boyfriend.” Tim sounded frantic.

_Oh_. So Martin and Tim were….Jon tried to shake off this new information; now was not the time. “Oh, Tim - uh - hi? Wha- what can I-”

Tim interrupted him, sounding panicked. “Listen, it’s Martin - he’s in a bad way. I can’t get him to respond to anything. He should probably go to A&E but I thought I’d try you first - Martin mentioned you’d helped him the other day. I’m really worried about him.”

Jon froze. Martin. He could hear the fear in Tim’s voice, and immediately switched from annoyed to concerned. “What happened? Is he breathing?”

“He’s breathing, but otherwise he - he looks like he’s in shock. We were doing some shopping this morning, and the next thing I know, he - he just froze, staring into space, repeating, ‘He’s here, I feel him.’ Then he passed out.”

Jon got a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Where are you now?”

“We’re in a cab on our way to his flat.”

_Shit_. Jon didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he could guess. “Okay, listen to me, Tim. Take some deep breaths. Get Martin home, and get him to lie down. He has a secret Enya album next to his bedroom stereo - put that on, and - and cover him with a blanket, for the shock. Try not to - to touch him too much, but just stay in the room with him until I get there. Alright? I’m on my way.”

If Tim was confused by these extremely specific and admittedly quirky instructions, he didn’t express it. “Okay - okay, I’ll do that, Jon. Please hurry. I-“ his voice broke. “I’ve never seen him like this.” 

“I’ll come as soon as I can; give me 45 minutes. And Tim, I’m glad you were there with him. It’s good he’s not alone. We’ll fix it, alright?”

Tim sniffed. “Alright. See you soon, And thanks.”

Jon hung up, and sighed, then went back into the reading room to quickly collect his things. 

“Could you please put this on hold for me? For Sims?” he asked the attendant at the desk, handing over the collection he’d been using. “I’m afraid I’ve been…called away for the day.”

“Of course.”

He gave a weak smile, then left to get his coat and rush as quickly as he could to Martin’s flat.

——————————

When Jon arrived, out of breath from running all the way from the station, and after Tim buzzed him in, he found the door to Martin’s flat left slightly ajar. “He- hello?” No one responded, and after a few seconds, he quietly entered. No one was in the front room, and he didn’t hear any noise coming from the kitchen, so he figured (hoped) Tim must still be with Martin in the bedroom. He quickly took off his coat and shoes, set his bag on the floor, and walked as quickly yet quietly as he could down the hallway. 

The closer he got, the more he could start to hear the soft sounds of Enya coming from the open door of Martin’s bedroom. _Point to Tim - he can follow directions_, he thought. He silently approached the doorway and saw Martin lying face-up in his bed with his eyes closed, covered in a quilt, and Jon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then he glanced over at Tim, a tall man with short brown hair who was sitting hunched over on a chair next to the bed, much as he had himself recently. Tim silently gave him a little wave and mouthed, “Thank god you’re here.” Jon could see the relief in his brown eyes.

“Looks like he’s doing okay,” Jon mouthed in response; Tim nodded. He stood awkwardly for a few moments, as there was nowhere to sit down. “Do you - should I make some tea?” he whispered. He didn’t really know what else to do - he hadn’t planned out what would happen after he got here.

“Sure,” Tim whispered back.

Jon quietly walked to the kitchen to prepare two - no, he was going to be optimistic and make three - cups of tea; going through the motions of preparing each cup was calming. He wasn’t very good at expressing his feelings, and since he wasn’t much of a cook, making tea had turned into his main way of showing people he cared about them. And he cared about Martin very much. He was also grateful that Tim had been with Martin when he went into shock - Tim deserved a lot of credit for knowing to call Jon right away. 

Jon wondered if Tim had ever known someone with PTSD before, or seen someone experiencing a flashback firsthand. He knew how scary it could be, and he thought about how scared Tim had sounded on the phone; it was clear he was rather fond of Martin. Jon rooted around in Martin’s pantry to find - ah, yes, a secret stash of dark chocolate-covered biscuits. These would do - Tim needed them.

Jon balanced three mugs and a small plate of biscuits on a large dinner plate he found, and carried it back to the bedroom, then set it down on the floor in front of Tim’s chair. He sat down on the floor next to the bed, and handed a mug to Tim, who took it gratefully - Jon was just now noticing how shaken up and pale he really looked up close, and he offered him a biscuit. 

Jon took a biscuit himself, then his eyes drifted up to Martin, who he could just see on top of the bed, breathing somewhat normally. 

“How long has he been like this?” he whispered.

“15 minutes, I think. Once we got here, it took a good half an hour for him to…I can’t explain it…to, sort of, come back to earth, if that makes sense.” Tim quickly ate his biscuit and reached for another.

“Makes perfect sense.” He paused and looked down. “Tim, I - thank you, for all of this. I know it can be - it’s a lot, but I’m just - really glad you were with him, and that you called me.” 

“I’m glad you finally picked up,” Tim replied, and Jon noticed the way his eyes crinkled as he managed a small grin; _grinning suits him_, Jon thought. “It’s a bit…new to me, to be honest. But I want to learn, and be there for him; I…really like him.” As he said the last part, Jon saw his eyes drift over to where Martin was laying, and the look on his face almost melted a part of Jon’s heart, not that he’d probably ever admit it. The fondness Tim had for Martin was clearly very strong. Jon felt himself be genuinely happy for Martin, but also slightly jealous, and he tried to immediately shake that off. _Now is NOT the time, Jon_.

Jon took the third, untouched mug and walked around to the other side of the bed, where he sat down and studied Martin: he appeared to be breathing normally, his hands weren’t clenched, and he looked relaxed. All good. Jon decided to try waking him up. 

“Martin?” he said softly. “It’s Jon.”

Martin murmured and shifted around a little.

“Martin, I made you some tea - would you like it?”

“Always…time for…tea,” he mumbled in response.

Jon and Tim looked at each other and smiled. Such a Martin thing to say. And he wasn’t wrong.

Martin started to sit up and Tim moved to prop the pillows up behind him, then Jon handed him the mug. Martin took it gratefully and took several sips. After a few peaceful moments, he broke the silence.

“Wait.” Martin’s eyes went wide and he started blushing. “Tim - Enya - you know about the - the Enya-“

Jon tried not to laugh. “I told him, you can blame me for it. He - well how much do you remember?”

He watched Martin frown a little. “Well, we were shopping, and I was looking at books, and then -“ He started getting a far-off look in his eyes that Jon didn’t like at all.

Jon interrupted him. “Stop, stop, it’s okay - I shouldn’t have brought it up yet. Tim called me and asked for some help - it…sounded like you had another flashback, so I just had him do what you showed me last time.” He paused. “Which…includes Enya. But it seems to have worked.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Martin mumbled into his mug. 

“I think it’s cute,” Tim said, giving Martin - and Jon - a grin that could warm any grinch’s heart. “And anyway, it looks like it did the trick.” 

“You’re right.” He sighed. “I’m just - not used to all this…” Martin waved his hands towards Jon and Tim.

“Support?” Jon suggested.

At the same time, Tim said, “Warm fuzzies?"

Martin looked up at them and chuckled. “Yeah. Support. And warm fuzzies.” He paused and looked at each of them. “It’s nice. Really nice. Although, Tim-“

Jon looked over at Tim, who suddenly looked a bit concerned. “Yeah?” Tim asked hesitantly.

“I…think I do regret agreeing to go to the market this morning.”

Tim guffawed, then cleared his throat and looked serious. “Um, ye- yes, I suppose you - you would. I’m…if I could go back in time I’d-“

Martin cut off Tim’s apologetic ramblings. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I was just being a little cheeky. You couldn’t have predicted….” He let the sentence hang there.

“I suppose not. Well, try not to hold it against me for too long?”

Martin grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” 

Jon’s heart had fully warmed up at that point, and he had to stop himself from leaning over and giving Martin a kiss. He glanced at Tim, who appeared to be having similar thoughts. 

Jon cleared his throat. “Well, is there anything else we can get you right now? Anything you want.”

“We’re not going anywhere, you know,” Tim jumped in. “Can’t get rid of us that easily.” Jon nodded.

“I remember now, Tim - you bought all that food earlier; I’d love to eat it for lunch, if you’re still up for it,” Martin said.

“I bought some ingredients at the market this morning,” Tim explained to Jon. “It was supposed to be for dinner, but I think we could all do with some good food now, right? The lasagna will take a little while to make, anyway.”

Jon suddenly felt very awkward. “Oh, I- I don’t want to intrude on your dinner plans-“

“Don’t be silly, Jon, I want you here,” Martin said with a smile. 

“Me, too,” Tim chimed in.

Well, he couldn’t say no to that. “Alright, if you’re sure. I’d love to stay.” 

Martin yawned. “I think I’d like to keep napping, though; would you two mind doing the food preparations? And I’m okay now, don’t worry about leaving me in here by myself.” 

Jon looked at Tim and nodded. Looked like he was going to get to know Tim better.

“Sure, be happy to,” Tim said. 

“We’ll keep the door open, in case you need us; and I’ll check on you,” Jon said.

“I’ll be _fine_,” Martin said; he was probably trying to sound annoyed but to Jon he sounded slightly pleased at all the attention.

Jon looked at Tim. “Shall we?”

“We shall. To the kitchen!”

—————————  
If Martin was being honest, he’d admit that he wasn’t really all that tired (and he didn’t want to fall asleep again anyway, fearing what dreams he’d encounter) - he just wanted an excuse for Tim and Jon to work together. He couldn’t have planned this better if he’d tried, though he dearly wished he hadn’t needed to run into Him in real life and lose consciousness for it to happen.

He didn’t remember much about how he got home; his memory stopped somewhere on a bench, maybe, or…it was quite fuzzy. His next memory was lying in his bed, listening to Enya, and sensing a presence watching over him. It was a very nice way to come back to reality after such a traumatizing event. 

Thinking about what would have happened if he’d been alone, in public like that, made him shudder. 

He felt a swell of pride knowing that Tim had remembered what he’d said about Jon helping him, and knew to call him. That was above and beyond, at least compared to any other man he’d been in a relationship with. And Tim had been out there in the world, in his city, this whole time; to think he met him by chance at a pub quiz…it was hard to believe. 

He _had_ been hoping to avoid the whole Enya discussion until a little further into their relationship, but - well, Tim hadn’t run away screaming, had he? Instead, he was making homemade lasagna. Martin would take that. 

He heard Tim and Jon talking in the kitchen, not making out any of their conversation, but hearing occasional laughter and the sounds of kitchen tools and cabinet doors opening; his stomach was growling already.

Martin got up and turned Enya off, then sat back down and took the nearest book from his nightstand and started reading until the food would be ready. 

—————————  
Martin woke with a start, and the book that had been lying open on his chest fell onto the floor; he must have fallen asleep without realizing it, but thankfully he didn’t have any unwanted visitors in his dream this time. He sniffed the air, and could smell the tantalizing aroma of butter, garlic, and tomato sauce wafting in from the hallway. 

He put the book away, and walked towards the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as he could. When he got to the entrance, he stood in the doorway, and watched as Tim and Jon were at the kitchen sink, facing away from him, washing up the dishes as the food finished cooking. Tim was washing, and Jon was drying and putting away, and Tim was doing an excellent job of making Jon laugh, and even blush a little. Martin shook his head. _That Tim really has a way with people_. Seeing these two important men in his life get along and enjoy one another’s company gave him an indescribable feeling in his chest, and he startled himself by almost starting to cry, but he quickly tamped the feeling down. 

He cleared his throat. “How’s lunch coming? Anything I can do?”

“Oh, you’re awake! We’re just finishing cleaning up, should be ready in a few minutes,” Tim said cheerfully. “Jon is quite funny, you know.” 

Martin saw Jon blush a little, and he relished it. “Oh, I do know,” he said rather dramatically, which only made Jon blush more, and which in turn made Tim’s eyebrow raise a little, causing all of them to then spontaneously start to laugh. 

_Yes_, he thought, _this is going to work out just fine._

——————————

They ate a most delicious meal of homemade lasagna, lettuce salad, and garlic bread, and let the food digest while watching another episode of Planet Earth. Martin had insisted they see the episode with the flamingos dancing - it was one of his favorites.

Towards the end of the episode, Martin could see they were all feeling a bit sleepy from the carbohydrate overload, based on the frequency of the yawns he’d heard, and Tim and Jon taking turns resting their heads on his shoulders throughout. “Who’s up for a nap?”

Jon and Tim jointly said, in a tired, monotone voice, “Me.”

“Follow me into the bedroom. I have an idea.” Martin saw Jon and Tim exchange glances. “For a _nap_! Honestly.” He shook his head but couldn’t help himself from chuckling. 

Martin lead them to the bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at them both.

“So - my idea.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Well, um, you can say no, obviously, but -“ Tim and Jon’s eyebrows kept going further into the tops of their heads. Martin needed to spit this out before they disappeared completely. “Okay, I - well, how would you feel about taking a nap and, um - kind of…er, sp- spooning me?”

Jon looked confused, like he was trying to work out the logistics of it, so Martin clarified. “I mean, with me in the middle. Three spoons. A Martin spoon…sandwich, see?” Martin held his breath.

Tim, ever the team player, spoke up first. “Oh, sure, I see. Yeah, I’d be down for that. Sounds nice!”

“Jon?”

Jon’s forehead was wrinkled in thought. “Which - which spoon would I be?”

“Well, uh, which spoon do you, uh, want to be? If you want to be one, I mean.” He held his breath again. He could see the gears turning in Jon’s mind as he apparently thoroughly considered the pros and cons each of the possibilities.

“I think,” he said shyly and to the floor, “I think I’d like to be the littlest spoon.” 

“Tim, uh, are you, uh, are you okay with being the, uh, biggest - biggest spoon?” Martin hesitantly asked.

“Of course! Sounds grand.” Tim was so excited he walked to the other side of the bed and took his position, causing Martin and Jon to laugh a little and break the slight tension that had been hanging in the air. 

Martin exhaled. This was going okay after all. 

He got in bed next, and snuggled back into Tim, who wrapped an arm around his middle. Martin looked at Jon and patted the space on the bed next to him. “Come here, Jon.” 

“Top the sandwich!” Tim exclaimed.

Jon couldn’t help but smile, and Martin’s heart started beating faster as Jon hesitantly came over and sat on the bed, then swung his legs up, and wriggled backwards until he was lined up against Martin. “Can I put my arm around you, Jon?” he asked. 

“Please.”

Martin put his left arm around Jon’s stomach, and felt his own stomach flip flop as he felt Jon grasp his arm and pull him into a tight embrace. He also felt Tim tighten his own grasp, and for the first time in…maybe his entire life, he felt absolutely safe and secure and calm. 

“Alright?” he quietly asked.

He felt Tim’s breath against his neck as he murmured, “Never better.”

“Alright,” Jon said, then pulled for Martin’s arm even tighter.

As his eyes started drooping, and he felt Tim and Jon’s breathing start to slow, Martin decided right then that if he could choose one feeling to have for his last moment on Earth, whenever that time may come, he knew that this experience, with these two people, would be it. Nothing could top this, he was sure of it. All of the trauma and abuse he’d experienced were wiped away, and he wasn’t afraid to love anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JONMARTIM LOVES YOU ALL
> 
> P.S. Bonus - would you also believe that when I started this Tim was a throwaway character but he quickly inserted himself into the narrative and became what he is here???? The man truly charmed the pants off me. He cannot be stopped.


End file.
